swinging kitchen doors shut behind her as she walked in.
Colin sat at the table, expression intense, head bent over a cup of steaming coffee and a newspaper. His dark hair was wet and pushed off his forehead as ifhe had no time for such things as picking up a comb. The black shirt he wore looked soft and incredibly masculine, especially given that he hadnât yet finished buttoning it up. His skin was smooth and sleek and rippled with strength.
Her fingers itched to touch.
His long legs were stretched out in front of him, covered in slate-gray trousers, tailor-made to show off every exceptional inch of him. His feet were bare.
âColin.â The name floated off her lips in a tone of longing before she could stop herself, and he lifted his gaze, holding her hostage with nothing more than his eyes. He nodded at her, managing to hold all his thoughts safe and sound, giving nothing of himself away, and again, Lani had to remind herself that last night had not been a dream, but a hot, welcome reality.
He had touched her. He had shown her an unrestrained passionate side of him that until now sheâd only fantasized about.
There was no further sound, nothing except for the little squeak Lani could have sworn her heart made at the cool, distancing look in his eyes.
Pushing his coffee away, he rose. He towered over her, all elegant, male grace as he moved to the door, clearly unwilling to spend even a moment with her.
He was probably afraid sheâd beg him to touch her again, she thought, blushing, because she held no illusions, she had begged him last night. Still, shepushed her chin in the air, not having to force the spurt of fierce pride. âYou forgot to take your cup to the sink.â
He stopped, his hand on the door, and looked at her, clearly surprised. âWhat?â
Ah, he could speak in the morning. Granted it was a rough and gruff sort of voice, assuring her heâd not been long out of bed, which only increased the fluttering low in her stomach because he sounded so irrationally sexy. âIâm not your maid today,â she reminded him. âOnly once a week, remember?â
His eyes darkened and she knew he was remembering last night, too. She certainly hadnât been the maid then, had she?
âYouâre right. Excuse me,â he said and went back to the table. He grabbed his cup and took it to the sink, though he didnât rinse it or put it in the dishwasher, just set it in the sink. When he turned and caught her eye, he lifted a brow as if in a dare.
She said nothing. She knew he rarely took care of his dishes in the morning because whenever she came to clean, there was always a stack in the sink. If he thought he was going to get a nagging pretend fiancée, he was in for a surprise.
Instead she called out cheerfully as she opened the door. âHave a good day!â
He hesitated, body stone still, and she couldnât resist adding, âNice talking to you, Colin. Youâre so sweet and chipper in the morning.â
He turned and faced her. âIâm never sweet and chipper.â
âI hadnât noticed.â She bit her lip. âWeâre not going to talk about it, are we?â
His eyes went wary. âDo we have to?â
âIt might help.â
âI doubt it.â
âWeâre supposed to be getting to know each other. Glaring at me over your morning coffee as if you canât remember why Iâm here isnât going to solve your problem.â
He drew in a deep, ragged breath and let it out slowly. He ran his fingers through his drying hair. The scent of him drifted to her, woodsy soap and a hint of clean, healthy male. âI remember why youâre here,â he said.
How could he forget, Colin wondered, when he was still feeling her skin beneath his fingertips, still tasting her on his lips?
After heâd left her, he hadnât slept a wink. It had been impossible with his body aching and needy,
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