and stops not far away, smiling down into my face.
“Mornin’.”
“Mornin’,” I return.
“I’m sorry I left you with all the work cleaning up the horses last night.”
“It’s my job. Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling today?”
I watch her as she rolls her eyes to the right and tests the muscles of her back and shoulders, wiggling her body to check for sore spots.
“I’m fine. Just a couple of tender spots. I’ll live.”
“Good. Sleep okay?”
She shrugs. “Okay, I guess. You?”
“Like shit,” I say honestly.
Her brow wrinkles in concern. “I’m sorry. Was it the bed? Because I could talk to Daddy—”
“The bed was fine, just…empty.” I wink at her as I take a pull of my water. When she blushes, I remind myself that I’m playing with fire. Teasing her is only making my life more miserable. How freakin’ stupid is it, then, to keep doing it?
Only I can’t seem to stop. She’s in my blood. Under my skin.
Dammit!
She clears her throat and stares at the toes of her boots.
“I, um, I actually came to see if you wanted some lunch. Drogheda is making quesadillas. I told her to make some extra. They’re really good. She’s a great cook.”
Truth be told, Sooty didn’t leave me much in the way of supplies in the fridge, so that would sound appealing even if it didn’t have anything to do with Cami. Her serving it up, preferably on her flat stomach, would make it the best meal I’ve ever had, even if it sucked. But that’s beside the point.
“Sounds good. Give me some time to clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring it down to you, if that’s okay.”
“Sounds good,” I say again, draining my water.
“I’ll be back down in half an hour then.”
“Sounds good.”
She turns away like she’s about to leave, but stops. She looks back at me over her shoulder. She’s grinning and sexy as the day is long. “Are you always this agreeable in the mornings?”
“Oh, I can be much more agreeable than this.”
Smiling broadly, she nods her head a couple times then walks away. The way her hips sway, I can’t help but wonder if she knows my eyes are glued to her ass.
I go into the bathroom off the office and clean up, running damp hands through my hair to tame it. Well, as much as it can be tamed anyway. It’s getting a little long and the natural wave makes it stick up at weird angles. I guess I’m lucky this particular look is in style.
I clean off the small table that sits off to one side of the spacious office and get us both a drink from the fridge. Not two minutes later, she comes walking through the door, an enormous basket hooked over one forearm.
“Good God, how many people are eating down here?”
“I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. Or what all you had down here, so I brought plates and drinks and stuff, too.”
Her eyes go to the table, to the beers sitting there, condensation forming over the dark glass of the bottles.
“Let me just put these away then,” I say, grabbing the long necks and sticking them back in the fridge.
“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“It’s never too early.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. For just a second, I see the same odd expression that my mom wears a lot, but I brush it off as my imagination.
She sets the basket on the desk and starts pulling stuff out and setting the table. My mouth waters at the smells coming from inside.
“I hope you like sweet tea and lemonade,” she says as she takes a thermos and two glasses out of the basket.
“It’s fine. I’m not picky.”
When the table is set and a platter of delicious-looking quesadillas is planted in the center, she moves to take a seat. I hold out a chair for her. She smiles up into my eyes and gives me a shy Thank you.
Of course, it makes me want to brush everything off the table and throw her up onto it instead. But I
“Mornin’.”
“Mornin’,” I return.
“I’m sorry I left you with all the work cleaning up the horses last night.”
“It’s my job. Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling today?”
I watch her as she rolls her eyes to the right and tests the muscles of her back and shoulders, wiggling her body to check for sore spots.
“I’m fine. Just a couple of tender spots. I’ll live.”
“Good. Sleep okay?”
She shrugs. “Okay, I guess. You?”
“Like shit,” I say honestly.
Her brow wrinkles in concern. “I’m sorry. Was it the bed? Because I could talk to Daddy—”
“The bed was fine, just…empty.” I wink at her as I take a pull of my water. When she blushes, I remind myself that I’m playing with fire. Teasing her is only making my life more miserable. How freakin’ stupid is it, then, to keep doing it?
Only I can’t seem to stop. She’s in my blood. Under my skin.
Dammit!
She clears her throat and stares at the toes of her boots.
“I, um, I actually came to see if you wanted some lunch. Drogheda is making quesadillas. I told her to make some extra. They’re really good. She’s a great cook.”
Truth be told, Sooty didn’t leave me much in the way of supplies in the fridge, so that would sound appealing even if it didn’t have anything to do with Cami. Her serving it up, preferably on her flat stomach, would make it the best meal I’ve ever had, even if it sucked. But that’s beside the point.
“Sounds good. Give me some time to clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring it down to you, if that’s okay.”
“Sounds good,” I say again, draining my water.
“I’ll be back down in half an hour then.”
“Sounds good.”
She turns away like she’s about to leave, but stops. She looks back at me over her shoulder. She’s grinning and sexy as the day is long. “Are you always this agreeable in the mornings?”
“Oh, I can be much more agreeable than this.”
Smiling broadly, she nods her head a couple times then walks away. The way her hips sway, I can’t help but wonder if she knows my eyes are glued to her ass.
I go into the bathroom off the office and clean up, running damp hands through my hair to tame it. Well, as much as it can be tamed anyway. It’s getting a little long and the natural wave makes it stick up at weird angles. I guess I’m lucky this particular look is in style.
I clean off the small table that sits off to one side of the spacious office and get us both a drink from the fridge. Not two minutes later, she comes walking through the door, an enormous basket hooked over one forearm.
“Good God, how many people are eating down here?”
“I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. Or what all you had down here, so I brought plates and drinks and stuff, too.”
Her eyes go to the table, to the beers sitting there, condensation forming over the dark glass of the bottles.
“Let me just put these away then,” I say, grabbing the long necks and sticking them back in the fridge.
“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“It’s never too early.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. For just a second, I see the same odd expression that my mom wears a lot, but I brush it off as my imagination.
She sets the basket on the desk and starts pulling stuff out and setting the table. My mouth waters at the smells coming from inside.
“I hope you like sweet tea and lemonade,” she says as she takes a thermos and two glasses out of the basket.
“It’s fine. I’m not picky.”
When the table is set and a platter of delicious-looking quesadillas is planted in the center, she moves to take a seat. I hold out a chair for her. She smiles up into my eyes and gives me a shy Thank you.
Of course, it makes me want to brush everything off the table and throw her up onto it instead. But I
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