Indulge Me. Joanne Rock

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СКАЧАТЬ had given it to her? Was she still involved with him?

      Tyler really needed to pay attention to this window or he’d be here all night. And not the way he’d like to be, in Rosemary’s…er, company, but out here standing on a ladder with only a scraper for intimacy.

      So he paid attention to the window. He really did. But his peripheral vision was working, too, and kept track of her. Then he had to glance right at her just once, to confirm if what he thought he’d seen was in fact what he thought he’d seen.

      Because what he thought he’d seen was her shirt fluttering to the floor.

      Yes.

      The shirt.

      On the floor.

      Worse—no, better—no, worse—her hands were now at the fastenings of her jeans. He scraped extra loud, making sure his knuckles rapped “clumsily” on the glass so she’d realize he was there and that he could…

      Her jeans traveled down long, long, strong legs, one of which stepped out of them, followed by the other.

      …see. He could see. He could do nothing but see. Dark wavy hair streaming down to her collarbone, skin a light shade of gold, broad shoulders, slender waist, toned ass…

      Her hands reached around to the back hook of her bathing suit top.

      Ho-ly sh—

      Wait. He was not behaving like the gentleman his mother had raised.

      “Hey.” He tapped on the window. No reaction. He tapped harder. “Hey.”

      How could she possibly not know he was there? He didn’t see any earbuds or the cord of an iPod. She must be able to hear him knocking. She must know he was there.

      The bikini top slid to the ground. Which meant…

      She knew he was there.

      He put the scraper down on the sill. Tyler had never been like his late older brother Cam, whom women tried to seduce at various times, like, oh, say, whenever he was awake. If this was business as usual for painters, maybe Tyler should switch careers. Though he hadn’t gotten this…uh, lucky when he’d painted houses in college.

      Maybe because he’d never painted for anyone like Rosemary before. Not just beauty, not just body, something else. A familiarity, a sense that he knew her even having just met her. Knew she was a good person, knew he could trust her, knew they had things in common. How could he possibly know any of that? He couldn’t. He was projecting. The connection was purely physical, animal, primal. Her hormones fit his, her pheromones broadcasted to his frequency, her…uh…her…

      …breasts, God, her breasts. Naked, they tilted, slid, hung lushly as she bent to pick up her top. His throat became dry. She tossed her hair, arched her back, slid her hands up her stomach to cup, then cover, then caress them.

      His throat became drier. Desert dry. His cock swelled. He wanted to touch her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. If he wasn’t put off by the concept of deep, possibly fatal lacerations from broken glass, he’d dive through her window and ravish her.

      She swayed dreamily to some inner music, fingering her nipples, smile curving her lips, her body in profile. She still hadn’t looked at him. He still hadn’t looked away.

      Her hips started to move, small, then larger circles. He let out a deep helpless groan he hadn’t been planning to let out. He wanted to grab hold of his dictator dick, which was ordering in no uncertain terms that its pain be relieved in whatever way possible, preferably in some way involving the wonder that was Rosemary.

      Her hands left her breasts, which suited him fine. The easier to see her with, my dear, and the view was spectacular. Except then her hands took a trip to the sides of her bikini bottoms and began to edge them down, one side a fraction of an inch, then the other, as her hips continued their ’round and ’round and back and forth and forward and back journey, a journey he wanted desperately to join them on because he knew what destination they’d lead him to.

      The bikini slid the last several smooth inches down her thighs, knees, calves, ankles and hit the floor. She turned and faced him, making direct eye contact through the glass. Well…eventual direct eye contact. His eyes were busy briefly before they made it up to hers. He was a guy, he couldn’t help it.

      Silence. Stillness. Emotions swirling in him—desire, and something softer, like tenderness, which he didn’t understand, hadn’t felt for anyone since Annie, and not even for her this soon after they’d met.

      The scraper chose that moment to slide off the uneven stone sill and clatter to the ground. He didn’t blame it. There wasn’t much holding him up, either—with the exception of the obvious, which had no trouble standing straight and proud.

      Now what?

      Okay, he wasn’t that lame. He knew what. But should he? He was working here; he was her employee in a sense. Maybe she was one of those women who seduced then cried rape. A charge like that could ruin his career.

      But he knew she wasn’t. How? He didn’t know. He knew being with her would be carnal and exciting and sweet all at the same time, and he didn’t know how he knew that, either.

      He also didn’t know how he was going to face his sister, who’d said all these same stupid and illogical things about her husband hours after they’d met, which had precipitated the most bitter fight he and Katie had ever had as siblings, one that worsened when she’d eloped and one from which they still hadn’t recovered, to both their sadness. But so far, not regret.

      His feet seemed to have decided what to do, or maybe it was that other part of him. He nodded at Rosemary and climbed down the ladder, suddenly aware of his less-than-fresh condition, having rolled out of bed at the last possible second into his clothes and a cup of coffee to stand in the sun all day.

      Ripe, to say the least.

      Still led by his feet or maybe the part that stuck out the farthest and felt the most eager, he found her back door unlocked, found the oak staircase and climbed toward heaven.

      At the doorway to her room, he stopped. A double room, a master bedroom suite in addition to the other two bedrooms he’d glimpsed. Unusual for these old houses, which usually fit only two bedrooms upstairs. Beautiful room, hardwood floors, decorative molding and thick solid doors. She’d decorated in a way that suited his taste—dark wood furniture, classic prints on the walls, colorful rugs, subdued rose-beige walls—nothing too modern or too girlie.

      That analysis took him all of five seconds, which was all he was willing to dedicate to the decor. The woman interested him far more.

      He walked through the outer room and paused at the arched entrance to her bedroom. She lay on the king-size bed, modestly covered by a sheet, expression slightly apprehensive, which put him at ease. If she was nervous then she wasn’t a habitual man-eater.

      “Hi.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it, but at least he didn’t giggle. “You, uh, caught my eye in here.”

      She laughed, which he liked. Not nervously, but as if she understood and enjoyed his understatement. “Noticed me, did you?”

      “I don’t think I’ve noticed anything quite that much in a long СКАЧАТЬ