His bed in the bunkhouse still had a pillow monogrammed with a D on it.
Kel.
That girl had a heart the size of a mountain, and she just kept recruiting people into her life, expanding that circle, growing her family.
Which was why he’d spent the afternoon putting up Christmas lights.
And why he’d spend the evening cramming down slice after slice of Melissa’s French silk pie.
He had a family, and for the first time in his life, it was a healthy one.
He set his bag down on the bed, began stripping off his clothes. The bunkhouse was quiet, all the lights off except for the ones in his room. Which was why he assumed the space was empty.
Assuming.
That was where he went wrong.
He toed off his boots and tossed his shirt on the bed, turned to grab a folded towel off the dresser in the corner.
The bunkhouse had gotten its revival, but there hadn’t been space to add extra bathrooms. There was a set of showers at the end of the hall that had been split in two, each space with a door that locked, and then an additional space attached to each one with a separate toilet and vanity area. The tiling had been completed, the drains and all the finishings installed. Everything, that was, except for the shower glass, much to Kel’s chagrin. That had been mismeasured and was slated to be installed in January.
Which was fine.
Maybe a little cold, but close the door, crank the shower on hot, and the room got nice and steamy.
It was a hell of a lot nicer than his apartment, that was for sure.
Still, as nice as it was, it wasn’t what most of Justin’s clients were used to—in fact, his friend had begun to use it as a tactic to vet the people he worked with.
Couldn’t bear to walk thirty feet to take a shower?
Well, maybe they wouldn’t hack it when business got tough.
As for Dale, the marble and bronze finishes were still way nicer than anything he’d lived in, so he was more than fine with the thirty feet.
Speaking of which, he needed to get traversing that thirty feet underway.
He pushed down his pants and underwear, wrapped his hips in a towel and strode down the hall.
So. Many. Feet.
Snort.
He was inwardly chuckling at his own joke, so totally in his head that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings when he pushed into the shower room.
He was so focused on the shower that he didn’t realize the lights were on in the attached vanity space.
He didn’t comprehend he wasn’t alone until that door opened.
A flash of bright light hit his eyes, just before the words.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Mid-shampoo, his eyes flew open at the cold words laced with a lilting English accent. He saw curly brown hair, bare feet . . . and miles and miles of gorgeous legs.
Tapping impatiently on the floor.
Assuming.
Fuck.
Four
Elizabeth
Holy fucking hell.
The man was naked.
Exquisitely so.
A rough-hewn strength, the dim lighting only seeming to emphasize the deep lines of his strength. Strong biceps, flat abs, that delicious V at his waist that had her remembering just how long it had been since she’d had any naked fun.
Too long.
Too damned long.
Slowly, he rinsed his hair, not answering her blurted-out question. Probably because it was clear. This God was showering, and it was a sight for her senses.
What?
She blinked, cleared her head.
The only senses she should be focused on were those of the business variety. What she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about was the very thin robe encasing her naked body.
Her clothes were in her room.
Her silk robe rubbed against her skin, the most sensual tease.
“Did that tire get you here?” asked the man.
No, not the man. Dale. The mechanic who’d fixed her flat without complaint and faster than she’d imagined possible. The mechanic who was gorgeous in clothes and a fucking Renaissance statue out of them.
He tilted his head back, continuing to rinse the shampoo from his hair, and she continued to struggle with forming actual words as the rivulets of water trailed down his chest, his abdomen, lower.
Beautiful . . . and erect.
Her lips parted, a breath shuddering out, and she stood frozen in place. Why didn’t she leave, just turn and walk away?
Because there was something about this man—
No.
No.
Down that path lay insanity.
There wasn’t anything about this man except for the fact that he was gorgeous and her body was primed to want his. That was it. They’d spent less than ten minutes together. Nothing more.
And you’ve seen him naked, the voice in her head chimed in, rather unhelpfully, she thought.
Because shit. There was that.
A naked man.
Meh. She’d seen plenty of those.
So, why was her heart thundering in her chest and her pussy fucking drenched? If he was just a pretty piece of architecture to admire, she should be able to turn away and storm back to her room, affronted that the man had so inappropriately invaded her space.
Except . . . she’d seen the shock on his face when she’d first come in.
He might be calm and collected now, but she’d bet her cell phone—and that was a life or death bet for Elizabeth—that he hadn’t expected to find anyone here.
She heard a creak, saw that as she’d been lost in thought, he turned and yanked the handle, turning off the shower. The water slowed to a stop, the only sound in the space the drip-drip as the remaining liquid made its way down the drain.
Oh, that and the sound of her breathing.
Because it was decidedly raspy, coming all too fast.
Especially because he’d turned around.
She never saw much in men’s asses, but holy hell, she could appreciate the one in front of her, nearly groaned in disappointment when he grabbed his towel from the hook and wrapped it around his hips.
Slow footsteps closed the distance between them.
Hot, humid air. A rapid pulse. Feeling way too small without her heels.
But then he stopped a few steps away and smiled, a slow, sexy smirk that filled her belly with fire.
“Like what you see?”
Five
Dale
She rolled her eyes. “You’re pretty enough.” A sniff. “But not pretty enough to tempt me.”
He grinned.
Fire. Yeah, he liked that.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you look like the cat ate the canary?”
A shrug, amusement coursing through him. “Because you said I’m pretty.”
“That’s what you took—” She huffed and shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll leave you to your”—she waved her hand before spinning around and heading toward the door, and he had to admit that view wasn’t all bad either—“ablutions.”
He trailed after her. “Oh, I’ve finished.” A beat. “Unless you’d like to watch me shower again?” Dale asked, affecting innocence.
She halted, tossed a glare in his direction.
Another shrug, more false innocence. “Never let it be said I’m not chivalrous.”
Elizabeth snorted. “Sure you are.”
“Look.” He slipped past her. “I’ll even get the door for you,” he said, reaching for the handle.