Page 42 of Tender Heart
I pluck up the first one as Evie wipes her brow with the back of her forearm. The apron she’s wearing is pulled tight around her curves as she stands in my kitchen. The damn sight shouldn’t raze me to the ground the way it does. She leans over, reading something on her phone, which I’m guessing is screenshot of a recipe or something. Her cleavage pushes against the deep V of her top, the apron doing nothing to cover her.
Fighting the boner off that’s sprung at the sight of her, I force my attention back to the book in my hands. Myjust friendsplan is coming along brilliantly.
Fuck me.
“Ow!” A spoon clangs onto the counter.
I’m on my feet and marching for the kitchen before the next heartbeat passes.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Her pleading brown eyes find mine. “Please, let me do this for you?”
Christ, this begging is going to be the undoing of me.
I fold a hand over hers and raise it between us. As I turn it over, her eyes drop to my mouth before making it to her burned hand.
What is it with this girl and burning herself?
Ushering her to the sink, I run the cold tap and guide her hand into the cool stream of water. She hisses as the water meets the sensitive area.
“No apology meal is worth this much pain,” I say.
Evie huffs a breathy laugh and her body rocks into mine as I hold her hand in the water. She’s so close.
Too damn close.
“You make a pretty good book boyfriend for a recluse, Callum McCreary.” Her words are no more than a whisper.
I raise both brows, and she takes her hand back, stepping back, her gaze shifting to the stove. Then to the chopped-up ingredients still sitting on a cutting board. Anywhere but at me.
“For the record, I’m a lighthouse keeper, not a recluse. And what the hell is a book boyfriend?”
Crimson flushes her neck and face.
And hell, if that doesn’t almost take out the last of my restraint.
She swallows before lifting her gaze to mine. “It’s a fictional man, written by a woman, who is the perfect combination of protective, loving, handsome, and—” She spins back to the counter and picks up the knife, re-chopping the already finely chopped vegetables. She clears her throat as her flush deepens.
“And?” I prompt, folding my arms and leaning a hip on the counter.
With a sigh, she drops the knife and imitates my stance. “Sexy. Swoony. A filthy-mouthed man who takes what he wants.”
She spits out the words so fast, almost as if she’s embarrassed. She grabs her neck with both hands, worrying her bottom lip. Sheisembarrassed.
I chuckle and lean forward. “You think I’m sexy, nighean bhrèagha?”
The old words slip out on their own accord with this woman. Something to analyze later.
“I—” Her look of surprise turns to a pouty glare.
My cock twitches.
It’s an effort to restrain the grin wanting out over my face. “Uh huh?”
She huffs, closing the space between us.
Fuck, this is going to be harder than I thought.
“What does it mean? Nighean bheag?” she asks.
