Page 47 of Keeper
“The shower door is glass.”
“Yeah,” he deadpans.
“The see through kind.”
“Riiight.”
“So, erm…maybe just pour me a cuppa and I’ll get it when I come out?”
“Of course,” he replies quietly and turns back to the coffee.
I head off to shower, pondering that little coffee pot exchange more and more as my brain wakes up. Was Booker trying to set up a slip with the coffee offer? Am I really erection-worthy in a T-shirt and long socks? He’s lady-boner-worthy, even in saggy boxers, so it’s possible.
This is why I have a plan in place. I can’t not think of him as more. And even though he’s fighting it, I know he feels it, too. He feels more. He just won’t let himself admit it yet. I have to stick to the plan.
Thirty minutes later, I leave my room and find Booker on the balcony. He’s still shirtless, but now he’s thrown on a pair of jeans that are popped open at the waist. His corded muscles are on full display, and I marvel at the smattering of hair that crawls down into his boxers.Only a few more days, Poppy. You can do this.
I step out onto the balcony with a coffee cup in hand. “Booker?” I say his name and hehuhsme without looking. “Can I get your advice?”
He turns and instantly eyes my cleavage pouring out of my shirt. This is so not business appropriate attire. “Is this top too much for my initial meet-and-greet with my new coworkers?”
“Yes,” he says without pause, his eyes trained on my chest.
“Really?” I ask, toying with the bow at the top. “I think it’s stylish.”
“It’s too much,” his voice is firm. “I can probably see your bloody nipple ring if I stand over you.”
My face flames with embarrassment. Not over his comment, but that we’re talking about his awareness of my nipple ring. Like a horrid film montage, I close my eyes and see snapshots of our passionate encounters. His hands on me. His fingers pinching my hardened bud. His dick thrusting in and out of me. I nearly let out a moan and quickly open my eyes to stop the images from flooding my psyche.
Booker’s eyes are hot on mine. I swear he’s thinking about all the same things. His arms are tense with a rigid stance as he watches me, looking like he’s using every muscle in his body to not jump me right now.
Good God, I wouldn’t mind being jumped.
I’m the first to look away, my voice shaky as I reply, “Fine, I’ll go change.”
I turn and pause at the doorway, willing myself not to look back. Begging the silly girl inside of me to be a strong woman.
I look back.
His lust-filled eyes now seem tormented. Disappointed. Like watching me walk away from him is as hard for him as it is for me. It makes the regret I feel come back full force. It’s wrong to be playing him like this. I wish I could simply lay all my feelings bare. Put it all out there.
But if there’s one thing I know, it’s Booker Harris. The man is the most stubborn human. He requires a creative and delicate touch, both of which happen to be my specialty.
I spend most of the next day at Camden’s new house in Notting Hill, grateful for the space from Poppy, who can’t seem to stop turning me on at every corner. If it’s not her breasts hanging out, it’s her legs, or her arse, or her adorable bed-head that makes me want to pull her into my bed for a cuddle.
And I don’t cuddle. I’ve never cuddled actually.
But bloody hell, she’s confusing the fuck out of me. There’s a constant argument going on inside my head between my dick and my mind. Dick wants a slip. Mind knows that it’s a bad idea. If I keep slipping with her, she’s going to try to bolt again. Move in with her parents or whatever nonsense she droned after the last time. I can’tjustslip with Poppy. She’s going to need more and I don’t want that.
So the mindless task of helping Camden build some furniture that he and Indie bought is a welcome reprieve. Tanner is here as well. Even Gareth showed up since he’s been staying out at Dad’s all week while his team is on break. This is the riveting life of a Tuesday for off-season footballers.
“Thanks for the help, my brothers. Indie is going to love this.” Camden’s voice is reverent as he strokes the top of the smooth mahogany desk we just finished. It’s gigantic and sits as a focal point in the middle of an extensive library with floor-to-ceiling shelves that Cam already has half full of books. He’s been an avid reader for quite some time, so it’s kind of cool that he found a home with such a space for his collection.
“You mean you’re going to love railing Indie on this,” Tanner cajoles, lewdly hip thrusting the corner of the desk like an animal.
Gareth pops Tanner on the head. I fail to conceal a smirk at Tanner’s pained frown as he rubs his man bun.
Camden smirks. “Don’t talk about my fiancé like that, broseph.” He lightly punches him in the shoulder. “But you are correct. I can’t imagine a better place to bed my new fiancé than on top of a desk surrounded by books. Christ, I could get a stiffy just thinking about it.”
