While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 by Virginia Nelson

assistant didn’t guess that he sat on the steps because she didn’t find him. He made a mental note to use the spot again in the future since it’d worked so accidentally well this once.
    After an endless vigil, marked only by the tick of the regulator clock at the head of the stairs, Sheri emerged and trudged down the stairs. He stood, brushing off his pants, and folded his hands behind his back. Clearing his throat, he hoped to alert her to his presence.
    Instead, he startled her yet again, making her jump and clench her hand at her throat. “You surprised me.”
    He didn’t point out that she stated the obvious. Manners, he reminded himself. “Sorry.”
    Her brows furrowed and her lips turned down. “What do you want?”
    A loaded question if there ever had been one. You. Again clearing his throat, he bit his upper lip to keep the word in. “I…”
    He didn’t know where to go from there. I shaved for you.
    Lame. Hardly impressive to point out that he’d taken basic care of his appearance since it would only highlight his sloth previously.
    She came the remainder of the way down the stairs, stopping one step above him so they stood at almost eye level. “You…?”
    The sweet scent of her, like some flowering thing that would bloom only with the touch of night, seemed to fill the air between them. The memory of her hand on his cock, of his lips against the soft skin of her neck shimmered to life in his mind. He clenched his fist on the rail of the stairs, willing himself to find the right words to kill the awkwardness between them. “Since I have an assistant now, I thought we should discuss the times we’d use to work on your project.” On me. He really wanted her to work on him, in a way that not a single one of his heroes would have dared imagine since it would have made them no doubt unredeemable if a woman read how filthy some of his fantasies were. She was so tiny, he could practically lift her by her thighs and bury his face in her—
    She took another step, moving within what she no doubt considered his “bubble”. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d invade his personal space—not when she hadn’t stepped back when he’d been drunk and angry—but it sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine anyway. “She’s lovely…your assistant.”
    He snorted, an automatic response considering the most tempting woman he’d ever met was within arm’s reach and his assistant was hardly a candle to the bonfire of attraction he battled being this close to Sheri. “I thought we could go for another walk, perhaps after dinner?” A polite question, worded appropriately as a request rather than an order.
    “So you’re willing to allow me to use my methods…” She drew the word out, raising one hand to hover over his chest but not touching. “…to help you now?”
    He swallowed, his mouth dry. He’d told her not to touch him. She only obeyed his own command. “Yes.” He bit the syllable out between clenched teeth. “I’m going to try to be far more considerate in my handling of the situation. You should be pleased—it’s no doubt a mark of your skill that I’ve progressed as much as I have.”
    Progress…he faked it and she must know—
    Her lips curled. Not a smile, since no happiness reflected in the expression. Rather it seemed a derisive smirk, a look far more in place on his features than her delicate ones. “We’ll see about that.”
    The hand finally made contact with his chest and pushed. He backed away, allowing her the control, and she slid past him to head to the kitchen. “I smell food,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Candice cooks too?”
    He didn’t answer.
    Glancing back at him, she raised one elegant brow. “You coming?”
    He reminded himself of his manners and didn’t snap that he wasn’t a puppy to be called when he lagged and instead held firm to his mask of civility. “Of course.”
    And then Candice swept in, taking his arm and leading him to the table.