losing battle with attraction—and arousal—for weeks.
He’d been unable to ignore her from the very beginning. Though she’d quietly insinuated herself into the daily routine, taking over the care of the house so quickly and so well that he was grateful every time he stepped through the door, he’d been fascinated by her heavy mane of red curls, her fair skin, the curves she acquired as her slender body regained some weight.
One day he’d walked into the kitchen while she was stretching on tiptoe for a vase to arrange some wildflowers she’d brought in. It was back on the shelf just far enough to be out of her reach.
“I’ll get it,” he’d said, and without thinking, he had walked across the kitchen and put a casual hand on her hip while he’d reached over her head for the vase. The moment he’d felt her slim, fragile body pressed against his, the mild arousal he’d been feeling from time to time had come back tenfold. He’d been so astonished at his body’s bold response that he’d thrust her away from him and gotten the heck out of the kitchen, too flustered to talk to her.
His mind had been astonished. He’d taken her in as a favor to his sister, and initially, he’d felt nothing but pity for the silent waif who scurried around him as if he might grab for her at any moment. After the first week, she’d relaxed and settled into her role as his housekeeper and he’d grown more and more aware of her feminine presence in his home. But he hadn’t expected to find himself fighting an inclination to tear off her jeans and lift her onto his hard, aching flesh and sate himself with her slender, elfin beauty.
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