As though she had felt his inappropriate response, or hopefully, shared it, she took a nervous step back and said, “Let me show you the bathroom.” She padded back down the hall and obediently he followed her.
The bathroom was the most elaborate in the house. As though after a day scrabbling around in the dirt she liked to wallow in the bathtub at the end of the day. It was a gorgeous, oversized tub, surrounded by lotions and creams and various potions all proclaiming to be organic, fair trade, and no doubt blessed by the Dalai Lama. A stack of towels rolled inside a basket looked as fluffy as clouds.
The space felt small, and intimate, and he saw a different side of Marguerite here, the sensuous feminine. There she stood, not two feet away from him, naked under her bathrobe, her face delicately flushed and those wet ringlets teasing him to touch her. He imagined that first, tentative kiss, rapidly deepening and then gave his head a shake. The woman had invited him into her home, trusted him to treat both it and her with respect, and here he was thinking of all the ways he could push her boundaries.
He nodded. “Thanks. I think I’ve got everything I need.”
She stepped away out of the doorway. “I’ll leave you to it then. There’s a fresh toothbrush beside the sink.”
And she was gone. Leaving nothing behind but the flowery, feminine scents swirling around him along with his hot thoughts.
He showered and dried himself off with a towel that a high-end spa would be proud to own and brushed his teeth with the purple toothbrush she’d left him, then wished only for a razor. He got dressed and left the bathroom, finding her in the living room. Her hair was still faintly damp as though she’d grown impatient drying it, and she’d slicked her lips with something glossy so they drew his attention. She wore a soft pair of jeans and a top in blues and greens that fitted loosely so it hinted at her curves. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He noticed that she wasn’t doing anything. Simply sitting there. When she’d left him alone, he’d immediately grabbed his phone and checked email. But she sat as though being quiet and still was enough. She didn’t even have music playing. The tension and fatigue of a busy day slipped from his shoulders. “You are a very relaxing person.”
Her lips tilted in a half smile. “When people say that to me I always wonder if it’s a synonym for boring.”
He wondered if the guy kissing her today told her she was a relaxing person. Which immediately made him feel less relaxed. “It isn’t,” he assured her.
“Good.” The main house was only on the other side of her fields so they walked. The Chance home was a rambling structure that looked like what it was: a small cottage that had been added onto over many years, without the benefit of an architect, but it had a quirky charm very much like the Chance family itself.
He could see his food truck parked out front and said, “Do you mind if we detour so I can grab a clean shirt?”
“Of course.”
“Just give me a second.” The truck was unlocked, so he jumped up inside and grabbed his bag. “I’ve got plenty of salad left. Should I take it in for the dinner?”
“Yes, Daphne would love it.”
She stepped up into the truck just as he yanked off his T-shirt. He caught her staring at his naked chest and, for the first time, she didn’t look away.
Maybe she’d confused him a lot of the time, but at this moment he’d bet his truck that she was as drawn to him as he was to her.
Maybe it was a crazy bet, but he hadn’t become successful without taking crazy chances before.
Hope bloomed, along with something much hotter as she continued to stare.
