‘Can’t you keep your shirt on?’
She fidgeted, still looking anywhere but at him. Her glance flicked to the surrounding houses. She was worried about what the neighbours would say? She looked to him finally and he’d have sworn the colour in her eyes deepened. Huge dark pupils stared up at him, surrounded by the rich dark coffee colour, and he wanted to drown in them. He blinked, broke the bond, and saw her cheeks were even pinker.
‘No, it’s hot out here.’ He held the hose low, and flicked it a little so a jet of water splashed at her feet. ‘Wanna get wet?’
Silence throbbed. For a beat or three she stared at him. Her mouth parted a fraction, then closed. Her lips pressed tight together. She turned away, her answer, when it came, more clipped than her high heels as they moved across the concrete. ‘Certainly not.’
He called after her. ‘May I get a drink?’
A pause in the staccato of the shoes. ‘Of course.’
How anyone could deliver a reply with such finishing-school politeness and yet such defiance in her face, he didn’t know. And damn if he didn’t enjoy it.
Cally marched indoors wishing she could be rude enough to suggest he drink straight from the hose. She flustered her way to the kitchen. What to get the man? She was the one who needed long, cool and refreshing, not strong, hot and amazing. She needed a shower. Just past ten in the morning and she was more breathless and bothered than if she were attempting a circuit class at the gym.
Water, juice, lemonade?
Ice. Lots of ice. She turned to go to the freezer and there was nothing but bare, bronzed chest in front of her. She stared—at the defined abs, at the brown nipples, at the dusting of hair that arrowed down into the jeans, at the wall of heat before her. Oh, my. He’d followed her into the house and was up close. Very close.
‘Like what you see?’ Dry humour laced his tone.
She said nothing.
The pause grew. ‘Want what you see?’ Less of the dry tone this time, a husky note of surprise.
Painfully wrenching her superglued eyes away, she stared at the glass in her hand and wondered what it was for.
Then she registered his questions—a good five seconds after he’d asked. Like? Want? Not able to answer honestly, she said the first thing that entered her head. ‘I’ve made soup for lunch.’
There was another pause. Then, ‘Why, thank you. I’d love some.’
Oh, hell. Had she just asked him to lunch with her?
‘But water would be great for now.’ He nodded to the empty glass in her hand.
The way she lost all thought compared to the confident way he handled himself was embarrassing. She walked round him to the fridge and challenged, ‘You’re so cool, aren’t you?’
He grinned and leaned against the centre island bench. ‘I guess. My nickname in my teens was cucumber.’
‘You were that cool even at school?’ She opened the fridge and leaned in, taking her time so the cold air might help her think straight.
‘That might have been it or …’ he answered lazily.
‘Or what?’ She poured water from the bottle, keeping the door open with her body.
‘Maybe it was something to do with size …’
Size? The penny dropped. ‘Ugh.’ She slammed the fridge shut.
His laughter was low and dry and she sent him an evil look until he raised his hands in surrender. ‘Kidding.’ His laughter rumbled again as he looked at her still-fiery expression. ‘Got you, though, haven’t I?’
‘Got me what?’
‘Curious.’
She walked towards him. Deny, deny, deny—the heat in her body, the attraction to him. Maybe it was time she tipped the glass of ice and water over his way-too-hot body. It was like having a million-kilowatt heater in the room.
Eyes narrow and penetrating, he reached out and took the glass from her with a firm, steady hand. ‘Careful.’
She raised her brows at him, not trusting her voice.
‘If my jeans got that wet I’d have to take them off.’ He took a long sip. ‘And I’m not sure you’re ready for me to take my jeans off yet.’
In that instant she knew she had to back off, right away. He was only fooling around but every word had her getting way too excited. He was so undeniably gorgeous, so cheekily charming, so not for her. No more mistakes.
But she was in her kitchen and he was in front of her face and there was nowhere for her to go. She tried to stand and stare him out—pretty hard when he had all the confidence, when he oozed the promise of satisfaction and she was overcome by the desire to test it out.
There was silence in the still kitchen. The teasing glint in his eye had gone and she watched the kaleidoscope of grey-green in his eyes, the widening of his pupils so that the colour was merely a thin outer ring and the centre was serious intensity.
It was a look that had her wanting all kinds of things—all of them involving getting closer. Instead she gave herself a mental kick in the butt. This was his stock in trade. He knew exactly what he was doing to her with his pattern of bold, daring comments, the laughter and cheeky half-apologetic grin and then the intense, searing stare. No way could any woman hold immune to it. She was drawn like the proverbial moth to the flame, and Cally still had scars from the last time she got singed.
But it was Blake who stepped away, breaking the stare, the burning light fading. Cally looked down to the bench. She fully regretted the soup invite, but good manners dictated she couldn’t backtrack now. ‘I’ll call you when lunch is ready.’
‘Sure.’ She could feel his easy grin. ‘I’ll go finish out there.’
You do that, buster. She was going to keep her distance from now on. Cally focused on the chopping board as he turned to leave, but couldn’t stop lifting her head again to appreciate the view as he exited the room. She could look, couldn’t she? Especially when he wasn’t watching. Especially at his butt.
When she called him back in Cally was initially relieved to note his shirt was back on. Unfortunately it was wet in patches and clung a little too tightly to his fit frame. She gripped the knife a little firmer.
‘I’m done out there. You want to come and inspect?’
‘No, I’m sure you’ve done a great job.’
She bent back to her task of chopping the herb garnish. He made himself right at home in her kitchen. Sending her a slight smile, he moved to inspect the pots simmering gently on the hob. He lifted the lid on one and sniffed.
‘So this is the stuff you sell?’
She hid the surprise. So he’d done some homework between the auction and now. ‘Sure. Gourmet soup.
