Page 29 of Holiday Hire

I take three deep breaths, realizing I sound like a moron. I add, "I should have looked at my watch."

Her lips turn to a small curve, and the extra room below my belt vanishes. She says, "Stuff happens when you're busy working. And that's why you have me here, right?"

I groan internally. The last thing I want to do is admit to Phoebe I need her here.

I don't need her here.

I declare, "I forgot to set my alarm on my watch. It won't happen again."

"Okay..." She stares at me, and I can tell she wants to say something else.

"Don't leave me hanging. Spit out whatever you're dying to say," I order, once again sounding rough when I intend it to be funny.

She replies, "If by any chance you are late, do you want me to wake them up?"

"I won't be late again."

"But if you are?—"

"I won't be," I vow to her and myself.

Disbelief fills her expression, but I'll prove her wrong. She slowly nods. "Okay. You're the only one on wake-up duty, then." She smiles and lightly scratches her collarbone.

My eyes drift to the top of her towel. Her cleavage and part of that damn tattoo are on display, making my lower body ache. And I hate myself for reacting.

This woman is too young, not my type, and not here past Monday,I remind myself. Then I order myself to stop staring at her, but I can't.

The D and the A of her tattoo are clear as day.

She claims, "I had to shower because Wilder ran into the bathroom around six o'clock and didn't come out until twenty minutes later. Then he crawled back into bed, and it was a nightmare getting him back up. I'll have to get up earlier to shower so I'm better prepared."

I shift on my feet, but I can't think about her words. There's only one thing going through my mind, and it's driving me nuts. I ask, "What dude's name did you tattoo on your chest? Danny Boy? David? Damon?"

Amusement fills her expression. She teases, "Didn't we go over how I can't tell you?"

I should let it be, but once again, I can't control my mouth. "Is it your current boyfriend or ex?"

She bites on her smile. "Why do you assume it's a boyfriend?"

A new thought hits me. I assess her, wondering how I could have gotten it so wrong, and a new wave of disappointment floods me.

She has a boyfriend, but she must be into men and women.

Embarrassed, I apologize. "Oh crap! I'm sorry to assume things. It's your girlfriend's name?"

Shock fills her expression and then she starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" I question.

She wipes at some tears running down her cheek, then takes control of her outburst and declares, "I don't date women."

"Well, that's good," I blurt out as relief replaces my disappointment.

"Why is that?"

"Oh, I didn't mean anything would be wrong with it if you were into women. I just meant—" I stop, tongue-tied, realizing I'm sounding like an idiot talking about who she does or doesn't date.

Her blush reappears, darker than before, and my cock aches.

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