when the alternative for him was sleeping on the floor in an unheated building?
Megan closed her laptop and put it down, then turned her attention to solving the week’s mystery through forensics. When she woke, it was to a figure looming over her, a hand touching her arm. She let out a startled, “Ah!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You fell asleep.” Sean’s fingers stroked down her arm before he stepped back.
She gasped. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “I thought you might want to go to bed.” He sat on the edge of the couch, which was made into his bed for the night.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Yeah. Thanks for waking me. Well, goodnight.” She felt embarrased, like a drop-in guest who’d overstayed her welcome. Her living room had become his bedroom again.
“Night.” His voice was husky and low, sensual as a caress.
Megan felt his gaze burning into her back as she left the room and remembered how his hand had lingered on her arm after he woke her. She was intimately aware of his presence nearby as she walked down the hallway, used the bathroom and got ready for bed.
The jolt of waking so abruptly left her sleepless and she lay for a long time picturing Sean in the next room. Visions of him sleeping led to visions of him doing other things. But furtive fantasies about him couldn’t substitute for the real thing. She longed to know what he kissed like, how his skin felt beneath her hands or his hair slipping between her fingers. How hard were the muscles that stretched his T-shirts and how soft were his lips?
Finally Megan gave in and allowed her hand to move down between her thighs. She closed her eyes and stroked herself to an abrupt and unfulfilling climax. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. She gave a low moan and turned on her side, the tension churning inside her not alleviated at all.
ZY
The next day, Sean dressed in some of his old street clothes—the baggier ones rather than the low-riding tight jeans—and left for work at seven a.m., clutching a brown-bag lunch of sandwiches and an apple. The construction site boss turned out to be as good as his word and Sean called her from a payphone to let her know he’d be out working all day.
That evening, Megan made a point of leaving work as early as she could so she could welcome him home. She got in before he did and started cooking. She didn’t have time to make anything fancy, but figured he would be starving and steak and baked potatoes would hit the spot after a day’s worth of heavy lifting.
By the time Sean walked through the door, dinner was well on its way and Megan poked her head through the doorway to say hello. He looked exhausted, but in a good way. He was covered in plaster dust and dirt from head to foot, his clothes stained and his face and arms streaked where the rivulets of sweat had traced patterns in the grime.
The mixture of sweat and dirt made his arm muscles stand out in sharp relief. Sean undeniably looked good in his rough, sweaty, testosterone-laden construction guy incarnation. She could just imagine the looks he got from passing women as he walked through the site carrying heavy loads, muscles straining with effort, and she suddenly wished she could be there gawping at him and his sexy ass while he worked. She mentally slapped herself and tried to refocus.
“So?” she asked, but she could see in his eyes it had gone well.
“It was good. I mean, the work’s hard, and the pay’s not great but…it feels fucking good to be earning money doing something like that for a change. You know, something I don’t have to be ashamed about.” Sean looked down at his feet and back up again, so vulnerable for an instant that Megan wanted to drop her skillet and rush over to hug him.
She pretended she hadn’t seen him drop his guard. It pained her to think how much he must have repressed his true feelings over the past couple of years, pretending he was cool with his
Megan closed her laptop and put it down, then turned her attention to solving the week’s mystery through forensics. When she woke, it was to a figure looming over her, a hand touching her arm. She let out a startled, “Ah!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You fell asleep.” Sean’s fingers stroked down her arm before he stepped back.
She gasped. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” he repeated. “I thought you might want to go to bed.” He sat on the edge of the couch, which was made into his bed for the night.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Yeah. Thanks for waking me. Well, goodnight.” She felt embarrased, like a drop-in guest who’d overstayed her welcome. Her living room had become his bedroom again.
“Night.” His voice was husky and low, sensual as a caress.
Megan felt his gaze burning into her back as she left the room and remembered how his hand had lingered on her arm after he woke her. She was intimately aware of his presence nearby as she walked down the hallway, used the bathroom and got ready for bed.
The jolt of waking so abruptly left her sleepless and she lay for a long time picturing Sean in the next room. Visions of him sleeping led to visions of him doing other things. But furtive fantasies about him couldn’t substitute for the real thing. She longed to know what he kissed like, how his skin felt beneath her hands or his hair slipping between her fingers. How hard were the muscles that stretched his T-shirts and how soft were his lips?
Finally Megan gave in and allowed her hand to move down between her thighs. She closed her eyes and stroked herself to an abrupt and unfulfilling climax. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. She gave a low moan and turned on her side, the tension churning inside her not alleviated at all.
ZY
The next day, Sean dressed in some of his old street clothes—the baggier ones rather than the low-riding tight jeans—and left for work at seven a.m., clutching a brown-bag lunch of sandwiches and an apple. The construction site boss turned out to be as good as his word and Sean called her from a payphone to let her know he’d be out working all day.
That evening, Megan made a point of leaving work as early as she could so she could welcome him home. She got in before he did and started cooking. She didn’t have time to make anything fancy, but figured he would be starving and steak and baked potatoes would hit the spot after a day’s worth of heavy lifting.
By the time Sean walked through the door, dinner was well on its way and Megan poked her head through the doorway to say hello. He looked exhausted, but in a good way. He was covered in plaster dust and dirt from head to foot, his clothes stained and his face and arms streaked where the rivulets of sweat had traced patterns in the grime.
The mixture of sweat and dirt made his arm muscles stand out in sharp relief. Sean undeniably looked good in his rough, sweaty, testosterone-laden construction guy incarnation. She could just imagine the looks he got from passing women as he walked through the site carrying heavy loads, muscles straining with effort, and she suddenly wished she could be there gawping at him and his sexy ass while he worked. She mentally slapped herself and tried to refocus.
“So?” she asked, but she could see in his eyes it had gone well.
“It was good. I mean, the work’s hard, and the pay’s not great but…it feels fucking good to be earning money doing something like that for a change. You know, something I don’t have to be ashamed about.” Sean looked down at his feet and back up again, so vulnerable for an instant that Megan wanted to drop her skillet and rush over to hug him.
She pretended she hadn’t seen him drop his guard. It pained her to think how much he must have repressed his true feelings over the past couple of years, pretending he was cool with his
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