Читать книгу Moonlight And Mistletoe - Dawn Temple - Страница 10

Kyle hadn’t missed the spark in Shayna’s eyes. Good to know the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Although why the hell this ridiculous outfit turned her on was anyone’s guess. The coveralls fit well enough through the shoulders, but they were too long in the leg. He’d been forced to cuff the pants to keep from tripping.

He’d left the enormous black hoodie on the bed, after a quick fantasy of Shayna parading around in it, her naked legs peeking out from a thigh-high hem.

The image had stirred him to half-mast. Now, seeing her standing barefoot in the kitchen, his desire swelled again. He raked a frustrated hand through his damp hair.

“Oh! You need to put some ice on that bump.” As Shayna grabbed a plastic bag and turned to the freezer, he ran his fingers over the tender, swollen skin on his forehead. His X-rated fantasies had completely numbed the pain, but now that she reminded him, he did have a throbbing headache.

She wrapped the ice pack in a wet cloth and motioned him to the table. “Sit down and hold this in place.”

He did as told, laying his damp clothes on the kitchen counter as he passed. The minute his butt connected with the well-worn wooden seat, she gingerly placed the cold press against his forehead then grabbed his hand and used it to hold the cloth in place.

“Ouch. That stings.”

“Don’t be such a baby. Just grit your teeth and do it. Otherwise, you’ll have a huge goose egg by morning.” She gently jabbed his shoulder before turning around and grabbing his laundry bundle. “Sit there while I get the washer started, then I’ll dig up some aspirin.”

Kyle turned in his chair, watching the enticing sway of her hips as she strolled down the narrow kitchen and into the attached mudroom. Despite the lingering pain from the crash, he felt pretty good. With a contented exhale, he rested his head against the back of the chair.

Shayna’s obvious concern for his well-being did more for his aches and pains than a bottle of pain reliever ever could. No one had ever reacted that quickly to ease his suffering. It was the kind of luxury he hadn’t planned for in his life but one he could definitely become accustomed to.

Only problem was, he couldn’t imagine his future trophy wife even knowing where the kitchen was, much less risking her fifty-dollar manicure to make him an ice pack.

The edges of his contentment frayed. The closer he got to achieving the goals he’d set fifteen years ago, the more he questioned them. He’d based his life’s accomplishments on an angry teenager’s view of success. Wealth and power had been his primary motivators, but the messed-up kid he’d been had no idea what that kind of accumulation required.

But he was too close to the finish line to quit now. Dismissing his self-doubts, he concentrated on the homey sounds of Shayna bustling around the kitchen.

He’d never met anyone like her. She had made it emphatically clear she didn’t want him here—not in Land’s Cross and most certainly not in her home. Yet somehow, she’d managed to put that aside and treat him with kindness and respect.

The woman was almost too good to be true, and being an old-school cynic, Kyle found it difficult to take her at face value. No matter how tempting the offer.

The clunk of glass hitting the tabletop snapped his head upright. He dropped the ice pack and opened his eyes. Shayna stood mere inches from him, her vanilla scent tantalizing him, a pill bottle in her hand.

“Here, take a couple of these.”

Their fingers touched as he accepted the bottle. A physical spark zinged up his arm. He knew she felt it, too, by the way she rubbed her fingertips together, as if trying to hold on to the sensation.

Kyle put the ice pack on the table and sat up, the pill bottle rattling with the movement. She stood so close that it would take very little effort for him to pull her onto his lap where he could feast on her generous mouth.

The tip of her tongue snuck out and wet her lips. Kyle’s coveralls became skin tight. He started to reach for her just as her eyes widened. Nervous fingers twining through her hair, she backed away, not stopping until her backside hit the counter. With her gaze glued over his shoulder, she gestured behind her.

“Hungry?” Her raspy voice stretched the second syllable, drawing his body even tighter.

Hell, yes. Starving. And only one thing in that kitchen would satisfy him. Unfortunately, even if Shayna put herself on the menu, he’d be forced to abstain.

He’d come in here determined to charm his way under her defenses. A casual dinner, harmless small talk, whatever it took to get her to lower her guard. Yet less than ten minutes in and he’d let hormones distract him.

“Hope you like sandwiches.” Her forcefully upbeat tone made it clear she wanted to pretend the past few minutes hadn’t happened. He was more than willing to oblige.