sink where she washed out Cilla’s mug and placed it in the dishwasher.
“I overheard Cilla say you’ll need to entertain me.”
Glancing over her shoulder at him, she took in his gorgeous face that wasn’t the least bit marred by the smirk on his lips. There was a gleam in his eye and when she turned back around she figured he was staring at her ass again because those damn flowers were heating up once more.
“How’re you going to do that, Rose?”
“I’m not sure. I left my tap dancing shoes at home.”
He laughed. “You’ve got a mouth on you now. That’s different.”
Because she was twenty-seven, not fifteen. A grown-up, not some kid with a brand new case of spiking hormones combined with a virulent case of hero-worship. So she was going to act like an adult too, as she’d promised herself this morning climbing into her car.
Be businesslike. A true employee.
She turned around to tell him so. He’d taken a step closer now, though, close enough for her to see the stubby spikes of his dark brown eyelashes. She could smell him too, a clean, soapy scent that smelled like the ocean and made her want to bury her nose in his neck. His body heat reached out to her, and it felt magnetized.
Drawing her in.
His nostrils flared. “Rose…”
Businesslike! Be professional! she admonished herself.
Then he made a move, and her defenses caused her hand to jerk up. It knocked the mug he’d been holding out. Tea splashed on his shirt. The cup landed on the ground, shattering.
“Oh, God,” she said, aghast. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries.” He lifted the hem of his shirt away from his belly.
“Did it burn? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Rose.”
She shook her head. “Take off the shirt. The tea will stain unless I get it in cold water.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Neither is giving it a quick cold soak.” She headed for the utility closet to collect the broom and dustpan. “Off with it now.”
When she turned back, the implements in her hand, he was just stripping the cotton over his head.
Rose’s feet stuttered to a halt. She stared at him, his heavy shoulders and wide chest golden and naked. His torso was rippled with muscle…
And scarred. A long one bisected him there, from below his pecs almost to his navel. He nearly died on the operating table.
Swallowing hard, she ducked her head and hurried to sweep up the shards. As she did so, he tossed the garment onto the counter then murmured he was off to get another shirt.
Once he was out of the room, she leaned on the broom and breathed, hard.
Trying to control her emotions. A prick of hot tears stung the corners of her eyes as she thought of all that male beauty and golden vitality being lost. Payne had nearly died.
And now, supremely aware of that, Rose began to doubt she had even the smallest chance of being all-business around him.
Chapter Three
The Santa Ana winds blowing off the desert turned the temps in Southern California to true summer, which only served to scorch Payne’s already dark mood. If it felt like summer it should be summer, and by summer he was supposed to be 100 percent recovered. Instead, he was languishing on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, trying to keep out the way of the woman who was giving his house a thorough scrubbing.
He frowned in the direction of the sound of running water. The fact was, he suspected she was doing her best to keep away from him .
Annoyed by that fact for some reason he couldn’t articulate, Payne got up and wandered inside. Rose stood at the kitchen sink, sponge in hand. The twin cords of the bright blue buds stuck in her ears became one and led to the phone he could see shoved in her back pocket.
She had a great ass, with a high curve and firm cheeks.
Today it was covered in a simple pair of jeans that she’d cuffed at the hem—thank God she’d abandoned the French maid look. On her feet were sandals that had a strap that circled her toe and crossed to another
“I overheard Cilla say you’ll need to entertain me.”
Glancing over her shoulder at him, she took in his gorgeous face that wasn’t the least bit marred by the smirk on his lips. There was a gleam in his eye and when she turned back around she figured he was staring at her ass again because those damn flowers were heating up once more.
“How’re you going to do that, Rose?”
“I’m not sure. I left my tap dancing shoes at home.”
He laughed. “You’ve got a mouth on you now. That’s different.”
Because she was twenty-seven, not fifteen. A grown-up, not some kid with a brand new case of spiking hormones combined with a virulent case of hero-worship. So she was going to act like an adult too, as she’d promised herself this morning climbing into her car.
Be businesslike. A true employee.
She turned around to tell him so. He’d taken a step closer now, though, close enough for her to see the stubby spikes of his dark brown eyelashes. She could smell him too, a clean, soapy scent that smelled like the ocean and made her want to bury her nose in his neck. His body heat reached out to her, and it felt magnetized.
Drawing her in.
His nostrils flared. “Rose…”
Businesslike! Be professional! she admonished herself.
Then he made a move, and her defenses caused her hand to jerk up. It knocked the mug he’d been holding out. Tea splashed on his shirt. The cup landed on the ground, shattering.
“Oh, God,” she said, aghast. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries.” He lifted the hem of his shirt away from his belly.
“Did it burn? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Rose.”
She shook her head. “Take off the shirt. The tea will stain unless I get it in cold water.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Neither is giving it a quick cold soak.” She headed for the utility closet to collect the broom and dustpan. “Off with it now.”
When she turned back, the implements in her hand, he was just stripping the cotton over his head.
Rose’s feet stuttered to a halt. She stared at him, his heavy shoulders and wide chest golden and naked. His torso was rippled with muscle…
And scarred. A long one bisected him there, from below his pecs almost to his navel. He nearly died on the operating table.
Swallowing hard, she ducked her head and hurried to sweep up the shards. As she did so, he tossed the garment onto the counter then murmured he was off to get another shirt.
Once he was out of the room, she leaned on the broom and breathed, hard.
Trying to control her emotions. A prick of hot tears stung the corners of her eyes as she thought of all that male beauty and golden vitality being lost. Payne had nearly died.
And now, supremely aware of that, Rose began to doubt she had even the smallest chance of being all-business around him.
Chapter Three
The Santa Ana winds blowing off the desert turned the temps in Southern California to true summer, which only served to scorch Payne’s already dark mood. If it felt like summer it should be summer, and by summer he was supposed to be 100 percent recovered. Instead, he was languishing on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, trying to keep out the way of the woman who was giving his house a thorough scrubbing.
He frowned in the direction of the sound of running water. The fact was, he suspected she was doing her best to keep away from him .
Annoyed by that fact for some reason he couldn’t articulate, Payne got up and wandered inside. Rose stood at the kitchen sink, sponge in hand. The twin cords of the bright blue buds stuck in her ears became one and led to the phone he could see shoved in her back pocket.
She had a great ass, with a high curve and firm cheeks.
Today it was covered in a simple pair of jeans that she’d cuffed at the hem—thank God she’d abandoned the French maid look. On her feet were sandals that had a strap that circled her toe and crossed to another
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