placed his head on the back on the chair and groaned again. You are utterly and completely screwed, man.
Even that thought wasn’t enough to pull himself out of the chair and out of her house.
Screwed to the max. And still caffeine-deprived.
Rob tapped on the frame of the open bathroom door and grinned when Willa, standing in front of the huge bathroom mirror above the double basins in a pale yellow bra and thong, reached for a dressing gown to cover up.
‘Bit late for that, seeing as I’ve seen and kissed most of you.’
Fighting her blush, Willa dropped the gown. He had seen—stroked, tasted—everything, so it was a silly, pointless gesture. Willa picked up a square black box and, flipping it open, brushed a pale pink blush over her cheekbones. Rob placed a cup of coffee on the counter and went back to lean his shoulder into the doorframe and cross his legs at the ankles, holding his cup in his hand.
‘Thanks,’ Willa said.
‘That was the last of the milk, and there’s nothing but a half-tub of cottage cheese and some yoghurt in your fridge … what do you eat?’
‘Not much,’ she admitted in a jerky voice. ‘I hate cooking for myself.’
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