Page 21 of Coming Up Roses

He catches me, slack-jawed and bug-eyed. Of course he does. “Aren’t you a vision, after all this hard work?” he says as he shuts off his machine.

“Huh?” His words don’t compute.

“That for me?”

“Is what for you?”

“That towel you’re carrying.”

I fight to keep my eyes on his. “Yup.” However, it’s a losing fight. I take stock of him, from head to toe and back up again—he’s even better up close. I can see little rivulets of sweat trailing down his chest, and I swear, I ache to follow them with my tongue. I’m pretty sure I let out a little whimper, because next thing I know, he’s smirking.

“See something you like, darlin’?”

I start to nod but come to my senses just in the nick of time. Halle-fucking-lujah. “Ab-absolutely not. I was just startled to find you back here damn near naked.” I snark, hoping it will drown out the lust he has swirling all around me.

“Half-naked, huh?” He drags a hand up his torso and back down. “I’d venture to say socks, shoes, boxer briefs, and shorts are a far cry from half-naked, Myla Rose.”

Great, now I’m picturing him in those briefs. Can’t a girl get a break? I toss the towel at him, landing it right over his head—apparently, I’ve regressed to acting like a toddler. “Come talk to me when you’re decent,” I huff before retreating to the safety of my kitchen.

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