Page 26 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘Sure. I’ll get you some.’ His lips shifted into an easy grin. Not the wide smile that showed off his dimple, but one of amusement.

He turned his back to reveal a wall of muscle. It was so much worse than the front. She fought a sudden urge to scrape her fingernails down his beautiful back, to leave her mark on something so perfect, surprising herself at the savage thoughts coming from her normally conservative mind.

The tap at the kitchen sink turned on and off. ‘We should put water in the fridge. But we don’t have any bottles to keep it in.’

‘List it.’ Did that make sense?

‘Good idea. I should pin a big shopping list to the fridge.’ He held out the glass.

It took all her effort to lift her heavy arm to collect the glass. But then her fingers brushed against his and a heated tremor squirrelled down her arm, as if lighting up all her nerves inside. ‘You, tank …’ The glass hit her teeth as she guzzled the water, her eyes averted from the man who made her thirsty.

She wiped her chin to check she wasn’t drooling. ‘I meant thank you.’ Where was her grasp of the English language?

‘Ah huh.’ The man stood in front of her with eyes so dark they were almost frightening, but steady, and locked on her.

She studied Ash in this soft light. He kept his hair trimmed short on the sides, with longer strands on top that were wet and glistening from the shower. With a straight nose, chiselled, smooth jaw, his delectable mouth barely shifted into a smile.

Normally he dressed in dusty denim jeans that hugged his thighs, and a long-sleeved work shirt that only hinted at his muscular arms. Now all of him, except for one part, was on display.

What would she give to let that towel drop so she could stand back and just admire his beautiful body in its entirety?

Even his scent was a potent combination of soap, shampoo, and rugged masculinity. Ashton Riggs was the perfect specimen of a hard-bodied, suntanned male.

‘Can I help you with anything, Harper?’

How dare he say her name in a way that made her toes curl.

Why couldn’t she move away?

His eyes slowly roamed over her body. The attention made her press her back against the wall, where she held her breath and licked her lips.

Tilting his head to the side, he dropped his eyes to follow her tongue as it ran across her lips.

Then his eyes dropped to her chest, continuing down over her stomach and bare legs. Slowly, taking in her simple nightgown, now wishing she was wearing full-body armour.

But the way Ash looked at her, he had to have X-ray vision to see beneath the simple cotton nightgown. She’d never felt more exposed.

She should have listened to her mother and worn a dressing gown. But she didn’t pack one, and why should she when it was so hot right now in this room. And why was she thinking of her mother when she had a near-naked man standing before her?

Could she blame those tall glasses, containing Bree’s delicious gin mix, she’d had over dinner that carried over from her long lunch yesterday, as the cause for her body and mind’s reaction to Ash? Standing in just a towel. Alone. In the dark.

‘How’s Mason?’

The boy!

Boundaries.

She sidestepped him, rushing to the sink to refill her glass. ‘Good. Asleep.’ Now that they had some distance between them, she found the courage to face him.

Why did they ever create a man who looked like Ash, to tempt her when she was only here for…

He walked towards her with such ease, as if he had all the time in the world to get where he needed to be. While she was the moron glued to the floor.

Plucking a glass from the sink, he stood so close to her she could feel the heat from his bare skin.

She scurried to the other side of the room. ‘Are you avoiding your son?’

The tap gushed with water, filling his glass. But he didn’t drink it, he just left it on the sink, his eyes staring at her reflection in the window.

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