Page 100 of The Homemaker
“But she’s going to visit her grandson, right?”
“You’re awfully concerned about someone you’ve nevermet. Is this because you have nothing better to do since pissing off your fiancée this morning?”
Murphy frowns. “She told you about the ick?”
“No.” I stand, brushing off my butt. “Before I came outside, I overheard her venting to Vera.”
“Eavesdropping?”
“No. I’m just not deaf.”
His gaze sweeps along my entire body. “Is wearing that dress to work in the garden weird?”
I laugh. “It would be if you did it. You’re too tall, and the skirt would ride up your ass.”
“Funny.”
“Think you can do me a quick favor before you relax by the pool?” I ask.
“Why are you saying it like all I do is relax by the pool?”
I shuffle toward the guesthouse, assuming he’ll follow me. “Why are you so on edge?”
“I’m not on edge. I’m owly.”
I giggle. “Sorry.Owly.”
“What do you need me to do? You’re eating into my short break. I have to get back to work soon.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re on Blair’s shit list. Did I not make your coffee strong enough this morning?” I open the sliding door and kick off my canvas gardening sneakers.
“I’m on everyone’s shit list today. Blair’s. Vera’s. Hunter’s. And I’m sensing you’re putting me on yours too. When will your mom be back? Maybe I can piss her off, too, and bat a thousand today.”
I shoot him a narrow-eyed look before leading him to the bathroom. “Vera said she’s fine with me changing the showerhead in here, but I can’t get the oldone off. Can you?”
Murphy parks his hands on his hips and inspects it for a few seconds while I inspect him in his low-hanging trunks and no shirt.
Tight abs.
Sinewy arms with blue veins.
He grips the showerhead and tries to turn it. Then he shakes out his hands and tries again. This time, it loosens, and he removes it for me.
Damn. That body.
His face comes into my visual frame, and I realize he’s bent to the side, ducking to put himself in my line of sight which is glued to his half-naked torso.
I swallow hard. “Th-thanks.” I take the showerhead.
“I know I’m the bad guy today, but it’s not as if my actions have been unprovoked. And when you look at me like that, my last fiber of control feels really fucking close to snapping.”
“I’m not looking at you?—”
“You are.” He kicks the bathroom door shut and backs me against it.
My breath dies in my chest, suffocating my response. What the hell is happening?
“Two weeks,” he says in a tone that sounds like a mix of anger and pain as he rests his hands on the door above my head. The heat of his body penetrates my dress and permeates into my veins. “Two. Fucking. Weeks.”
