Regardless, I tend to believe I’m a strong woman who can look unfazed when her body heat is rising to dangerous temperatures.
When Roarke walks out of the bathroom in pajama pants and no shirt on, I almost lose my cool. He has to be in his early forties, but his pecs and biceps bulge as he rounds the edge of the bed and slides in under the covers. He doesn’t say a word as he makes his trip across the room. He doesn’t have to. I’m sure his stealthy eyes caught me peeking up at him over my Kindle.
He passes out quickly after a short goodnight in his usual deep timbre which seems to be an aphrodisiac for my lower region. I would’ve settled for some teenage dry humping. That’s how low I was willing to go.
I put my Kindle down and laid on my right side as I usually do when I fall asleep. The problem was Roarke was in my line of sight. His bare, muscled chest rising and falling. One hand positioned under his head, one leg sneaking out from the sheet a bit. He truly was a male Adonis.
He’d volunteered to take the bed closest to the door. Once again proving he knows I’m not feeling completely safe here, but not calling me out on my bullshit excuse for offering him the other bed. The fact he keeps doing that is starting to piss me off and I have no explanation for why it angers me.
Rolling over to my left, I face the wall and will my eyes shut with the hopes that this weekend goes by fast because my willpower crumbles a little more every second I’m around him.
A light permeates my eyelids and I blink my eyes open.
I’m sprawled in the middle of the bed, literally in an X, taking up the entire space. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly. Usually Lucy’s taking up half the bed and pushing one of her paws into me.
A tall figure blocks the light and I turn my head to see Roarke place something on the bedside table. “You snore.”
I sit up, wiping the guck from my eyes.
Why did I let him sleep here again? I should’ve set my alarm so I could get up first and do my hair and makeup.
“I do not,” I say with a still groggy voice.
He sits at the edge of the bed, untying his running shoes, sweat pouring off his face. “You do. It’s probably the fresh air, maybe allergies.”
My face heats to the level of an erupting volcano. “You’re joking?” I ask, mortified that what he’s saying might be true.
“Yeah.” He stands, strips off his shirt and tosses it on the bed.
Now I have to stare at his muscled chest while sweat drips down it like dots of rain on a window, only these drops are slipping from one ab to the next.
I was not prepared for this kind of exquisite torture when I agreed to this trip.
Grabbing my coffee from the nightstand, I take a sip with the hopes of stopping more saliva from pooling inside my mouth.
“I told you I had a sense of humor.” He picks up his running shoes, placing them beside his suitcase is. “I have a proposition for you.”
He sits back down and though I’ve always prided myself on my willpower, right now it’s taking everything in me not to launch myself across this mattress and on top of him.
“Why don’t you put your shirt back on and then we can talk?” I really don’t care at this point if I’m tipping my cards to him. I cannot sit here and pretend not to be distracted by his body any longer.
I pull the sheet up over my body. I’m dressed in shorts and a cami, nothing too revealing but I’m sure my headlights are on and glaring.
“Why?” he asks with his signature cocky grin. “You like what you see?”
Yes, yes, I do.
“Nope.” My tone is curt and borderline mean. “It’s common courtesy when we’re sharing a space.”
“Common courtesy?” He quirks one eyebrow, amusement lighting his tone.
“Yes. You’re in the presence of a lady.” I sip my coffee, hoping to keep the smile from my face.
“Shit, how old are you?” He leans back on his hands, not attempting to move for his t-shirt.
“Old enough.” I scowl.
“I’m older and even if I suggested I should clothe myself in front of a lady, it’d be dated.”
“There’s only one thing right in your sentence and that’s that you’re older than me.”
He stares at me for an unnerving beat. If I was anyone other than myself, I’d pounce on him and think of the consequences later.
He stands. “Get ready. We’re heading into town.” He saunters to the bathroom and closes the door, water rattling the pipes in the wall seconds later.
An hour later, I’m back in the passenger seat of his Range Rover trying not to peek over at Roarke in admiration again. His usual suit has been replaced with a pair of light blue linen shorts and a V-neck t-shirt that showcases his broad shoulders. His hair isn’t gelled into cement, rather showing the soft curls in a messy weekend look. The man can pull off casual and business. How do I even stand a chance?
“You’ve got great legs.” His gaze doesn’t venture my way as we pass a small green sign that says Woods Parlor Population 1034.
“Did someone have a baby?” I ignore his comment about my legs. I was unsure if I should bring shorts so I opted on sundresses. Easier to dress up if I had to.
“What?”
“The population sign. The four looked new.”
He grants me a fleeting look and shrugs. “I don’t keep up with the town gossip.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as tall trees on either side fill out the drive. It’s beautiful, but I can’t help but notice the lack of people. Growing up in the burbs of Chicago my entire life, woods were reserved for forest preserves the city mandated so every square inch of the area wasn’t cement. Even while you’re in the forest preserve, you can usually see other people.
Since Roarke wasn’t too keen on me asking about the four, I remain quiet. My mind spins to why he brought me here. As a punishment of some sort? Did he want to see what it was like to take the rich society woman out of her element just for shits and giggles?
“Are you going to acknowledge my compliment? Isn’t that bad manners?”
“It’s bad manners to compliment my physical attributes.”
He huffs. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Lamest?”
“Who’s asking one-word questions now?” He spares a quick glance my way.
A zing fires in my belly. Our banter is something I’ve come to enjoy in the past week and when Roarke was busy sulking or thinking I kind of missed it. Don’t ever tell him that because I’d deny it, even if you offered me Chris Hemsworth covered in chocolate.
Okay, that’s BS, who could resist that?
“I’m just saying you’re a lawyer and you used the word lamest.” I cross my legs and catch his gaze drift in that direction. My breathing picks up just slightly.
“Excuse my vocabulary. Must be because I’m back here in Woods Parlor.” He says his town name much like people who make fun of small town people.
“I was just suggesting—”
“I know what you were suggesting,” he snaps. “I’ll pick up a dictionary while we’re in town.”
My jaw hangs open and I stare at the side of his face. Who the hell does he think he is to go and get all sensitive on me now? This is what we do.