me to sleep?” he asked, clearly wondering about the other side of his proposition.
She frowned. “Not with me. I think we could just try being friends. Not that I’m not tempted, but I have so much going on, and—”
He shushed her gently. “No problem. That’s perfectly okay. Whatever you need, Lydia.”
She smiled, not sure if she was relieved or not at his easy acceptance of her rejection. But it was for the best.
“If you don’t mind, maybe I could catch a hot shower and some shut-eye?” he asked, turning away.
Lydia blinked with how quickly they’d gone from fighting to kissing to this casual agreement. Was she fooling herself that she could have him around and maintain her distance? Was he fooling himself? No. He was straighter than an arrow, and she was stronger than that.
“Sure, the shower’s upstairs, straight down the hall on the left. The beds in the other room aren’t made up, so if you want to take the sofa, that’s fine. It’s pretty comfortable. I can make up a room for you tomorrow.”
The idea of him in her shower was filling her mind with lust.
“I can stay in the bunkhouse, if you want,” he offered.
“I’m not sure what the accommodations are like down there anymore. There’s more than enough room here, and if you’re working on the house, it makes sense,” she said easily, as if it would be no problem at all.
“Okay, then, thanks. See you in the morning,” he said casually, as if they were pals, hanging out. Easy-peasy.
When he left, she felt as if she had been picked up and landed down somewhere else, completely disoriented. Had she really gone from not wanting him here to agreeing to let him stay and help her with the house?
It all seemed so reasonable.
She picked up their empty mugs and found herself tracing the edge of the cup he had drunk from, remembering the touch of his lips and his hands. Realizing what she was doing, she put the mug down so quickly she almost broke it, and cursed under her breath.
How did he manage to turn her inside out so easily without seeming like he even suffered a hair out of place? It didn’t matter. They’d talked, kissed, and would part ways this time as...friends.
That still didn’t feel quite right, but it would make things easier when they went back to Philly. She shut off the lights and headed to bed, trying not to listen to the water running in the shower down the hall from her room. Thinking about him naked in her shower, the hot water running over all of those lovely muscles. She pretended not to notice that the door had opened a bit. A gentle invitation?
Tempting as it was, she walked into her room, shutting the door tight. Ely might think he was happy playing things free and easy, but she knew that giving in would only make things more difficult. Right now, that was the last thing she needed.
4
E LY FELT GREAT in spite of his lack of sleep the night before. He’d showered and hit the sofa, but had no expectation of sleep. Not with Lydia in her room upstairs. In her bed.
He couldn’t help but peek into the room she was using—her bags were all over the place—and she’d left the door wide open. Needless to say, the decor here was very different than her bedroom back in Philly, which was part BDSM parlor, part French boudoir.
Here, pretty watercolors hung on the walls by the bed. In her apartment, erotic black-and-whites adorned the walls of the room. The sheets in this warm-toned room were cotton, soft and comforting. There were handmade quilts on the bed.
Back home, Lydia preferred satin. They’d been scarlet red the night he’d been with her.
Needless to say, with those memories and their kiss on his mind, sleep was not going to happen. He hadn’t come here thinking about sleeping with Lydia again—quite the opposite—but after he’d kissed her, he’d hoped she might change her mind. Let him make it up to her for being such a jerk before. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but apparently, he’d done a
She frowned. “Not with me. I think we could just try being friends. Not that I’m not tempted, but I have so much going on, and—”
He shushed her gently. “No problem. That’s perfectly okay. Whatever you need, Lydia.”
She smiled, not sure if she was relieved or not at his easy acceptance of her rejection. But it was for the best.
“If you don’t mind, maybe I could catch a hot shower and some shut-eye?” he asked, turning away.
Lydia blinked with how quickly they’d gone from fighting to kissing to this casual agreement. Was she fooling herself that she could have him around and maintain her distance? Was he fooling himself? No. He was straighter than an arrow, and she was stronger than that.
“Sure, the shower’s upstairs, straight down the hall on the left. The beds in the other room aren’t made up, so if you want to take the sofa, that’s fine. It’s pretty comfortable. I can make up a room for you tomorrow.”
The idea of him in her shower was filling her mind with lust.
“I can stay in the bunkhouse, if you want,” he offered.
“I’m not sure what the accommodations are like down there anymore. There’s more than enough room here, and if you’re working on the house, it makes sense,” she said easily, as if it would be no problem at all.
“Okay, then, thanks. See you in the morning,” he said casually, as if they were pals, hanging out. Easy-peasy.
When he left, she felt as if she had been picked up and landed down somewhere else, completely disoriented. Had she really gone from not wanting him here to agreeing to let him stay and help her with the house?
It all seemed so reasonable.
She picked up their empty mugs and found herself tracing the edge of the cup he had drunk from, remembering the touch of his lips and his hands. Realizing what she was doing, she put the mug down so quickly she almost broke it, and cursed under her breath.
How did he manage to turn her inside out so easily without seeming like he even suffered a hair out of place? It didn’t matter. They’d talked, kissed, and would part ways this time as...friends.
That still didn’t feel quite right, but it would make things easier when they went back to Philly. She shut off the lights and headed to bed, trying not to listen to the water running in the shower down the hall from her room. Thinking about him naked in her shower, the hot water running over all of those lovely muscles. She pretended not to notice that the door had opened a bit. A gentle invitation?
Tempting as it was, she walked into her room, shutting the door tight. Ely might think he was happy playing things free and easy, but she knew that giving in would only make things more difficult. Right now, that was the last thing she needed.
4
E LY FELT GREAT in spite of his lack of sleep the night before. He’d showered and hit the sofa, but had no expectation of sleep. Not with Lydia in her room upstairs. In her bed.
He couldn’t help but peek into the room she was using—her bags were all over the place—and she’d left the door wide open. Needless to say, the decor here was very different than her bedroom back in Philly, which was part BDSM parlor, part French boudoir.
Here, pretty watercolors hung on the walls by the bed. In her apartment, erotic black-and-whites adorned the walls of the room. The sheets in this warm-toned room were cotton, soft and comforting. There were handmade quilts on the bed.
Back home, Lydia preferred satin. They’d been scarlet red the night he’d been with her.
Needless to say, with those memories and their kiss on his mind, sleep was not going to happen. He hadn’t come here thinking about sleeping with Lydia again—quite the opposite—but after he’d kissed her, he’d hoped she might change her mind. Let him make it up to her for being such a jerk before. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but apparently, he’d done a
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