slowly, arching her brows at him. “In my room. Where I always sleep. So I’ll see you in the morning?”
He gulped. “I’ll be here.”
Chapter Seventeen
Upstairs, Michael stepped into his room and paused, breathing deeply. The room smelled the same as always, soap and dust and the wood of his furniture. But under it all, floating softly through the clean, woodsy scent of his body wash, was the natural perfume of a woman . A naturally summery, beachy-scented woman. “Damn,” he muttered, stalking across the room to the balcony doors. He flung them open and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the scents of the outdoors. The temperature had gone down, but the air was sticky with humidity, and the wildflowers in the field beside his house scented the air. He reached up and dragged his shirt over his head, stuffing a wad of fabric into the pocket of his jeans to hold it. He didn’t want to forget it on the balcony, but there was no way he could be in the house right now, not with Renee running around barely dressed, rum coursing through his blood, and more confusion than he knew what to do with. It wasn’t like she’d never slept at his house.
She just hadn’t ever done it in his clothes … but she had. She’d never walked around his house in them though – when she stayed over and borrowed a shirt to sleep in, she always just changed and went to bed. He’d never seen her like that, fresh from the shower, steaming with heat, bare legs scrubbed pink. Maybe that was why he’d never felt the urge to strip her naked and bury himself inside her before. That had to be it, right? Just the change in their routine? Because she wasn’t the kind of woman he looked at like that. She wasn’t the kind of woman he used like that. She was just Renee.
Or at least, she had been. He went to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, his forearms braced against the handrail he had built with his father shortly after buying the house, and looked out into the yard. It was well-kept, but had the clean, undecorated look of a bachelor home. There were no plants or fancy landscaping elements to create shadows in the dark, only the wide expanse of grassy land that would soon need its first springtime mow. Downstairs, the light from the kitchen illuminated a patch of grass beside the house, and he watched the patch of light grow as the light in the laundry room came on.
Behind him, he could hear her singing downstairs, and the rush of water as she started the washer. He listened, straining his ears to decipher what she was singing, but it was no use, the sound was too muffled by the house and the night air. Still, he smiled to himself, listening to her until the laundry room light went out, followed by the kitchen light.
He had almost turned to go back into the house when she opened the door and stepped outside. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall and watched her, knowing that with all the lights off, she couldn’t see him even if she turned back to look. She didn’t look, though; she walked out with confidence, his tee shirt billowing softly around her legs, the blanket from the back of his couch in her hands.
The hem of the shirt came dangerously close to showing her ass as she bent to spread the blanket on the grass, and he felt his eyes grow wider, watching. There was growth elsewhere, too, and the shame of watching her this way almost made him turn back to the house. Almost.
He sucked in a breath as she lowered herself to the blanket, lying back to look up into the sky. Let it out soundlessly as she bent one leg at the knee. His tee shirt skimmed over her breasts in the moonlight, flattened over a narrow waist, settled in a pool at the apex of her naked thighs. The next breath he drew was ragged, as his mind filled with fantasies.
What would she do if he were to walk through his bedroom and down the stairs, out into the night with her? Would she be accepting if he were to
He gulped. “I’ll be here.”
Chapter Seventeen
Upstairs, Michael stepped into his room and paused, breathing deeply. The room smelled the same as always, soap and dust and the wood of his furniture. But under it all, floating softly through the clean, woodsy scent of his body wash, was the natural perfume of a woman . A naturally summery, beachy-scented woman. “Damn,” he muttered, stalking across the room to the balcony doors. He flung them open and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing in the scents of the outdoors. The temperature had gone down, but the air was sticky with humidity, and the wildflowers in the field beside his house scented the air. He reached up and dragged his shirt over his head, stuffing a wad of fabric into the pocket of his jeans to hold it. He didn’t want to forget it on the balcony, but there was no way he could be in the house right now, not with Renee running around barely dressed, rum coursing through his blood, and more confusion than he knew what to do with. It wasn’t like she’d never slept at his house.
She just hadn’t ever done it in his clothes … but she had. She’d never walked around his house in them though – when she stayed over and borrowed a shirt to sleep in, she always just changed and went to bed. He’d never seen her like that, fresh from the shower, steaming with heat, bare legs scrubbed pink. Maybe that was why he’d never felt the urge to strip her naked and bury himself inside her before. That had to be it, right? Just the change in their routine? Because she wasn’t the kind of woman he looked at like that. She wasn’t the kind of woman he used like that. She was just Renee.
Or at least, she had been. He went to the edge of the balcony and leaned over, his forearms braced against the handrail he had built with his father shortly after buying the house, and looked out into the yard. It was well-kept, but had the clean, undecorated look of a bachelor home. There were no plants or fancy landscaping elements to create shadows in the dark, only the wide expanse of grassy land that would soon need its first springtime mow. Downstairs, the light from the kitchen illuminated a patch of grass beside the house, and he watched the patch of light grow as the light in the laundry room came on.
Behind him, he could hear her singing downstairs, and the rush of water as she started the washer. He listened, straining his ears to decipher what she was singing, but it was no use, the sound was too muffled by the house and the night air. Still, he smiled to himself, listening to her until the laundry room light went out, followed by the kitchen light.
He had almost turned to go back into the house when she opened the door and stepped outside. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall and watched her, knowing that with all the lights off, she couldn’t see him even if she turned back to look. She didn’t look, though; she walked out with confidence, his tee shirt billowing softly around her legs, the blanket from the back of his couch in her hands.
The hem of the shirt came dangerously close to showing her ass as she bent to spread the blanket on the grass, and he felt his eyes grow wider, watching. There was growth elsewhere, too, and the shame of watching her this way almost made him turn back to the house. Almost.
He sucked in a breath as she lowered herself to the blanket, lying back to look up into the sky. Let it out soundlessly as she bent one leg at the knee. His tee shirt skimmed over her breasts in the moonlight, flattened over a narrow waist, settled in a pool at the apex of her naked thighs. The next breath he drew was ragged, as his mind filled with fantasies.
What would she do if he were to walk through his bedroom and down the stairs, out into the night with her? Would she be accepting if he were to
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