Thunderstruck. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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her mind today to make sure she didn’t lag behind. But now that kiss was all she could think about. He walked over, took the jug and tipped it up so he could drink.
Maybe if she hadn’t been dazed by hours of physical labor, she would have maintained her cool. Or not. He’d been staring at her all day so why not return the favor?
He was an arresting sight, and she couldn’t manage to look away. She took it all in—the flutter of his blond lashes as his eyes drifted closed, his full lips circling the mouth of the jug, the tendons tightening on the back of his hand as he grasped the jug and the movement of his tanned throat as he swallowed.
He lowered the jug and glanced at her. His breath caught. “Good God, Phil. Don’t look at me like that unless...”
“Unless what?”
“You want me to show up at your door tonight.”
She held his gaze as her heart thumped in an urgent rhythm. She imagined him at her door, in her house, in her bed. “As it happens, I do want that.”
“You’re absolutely sure.”
“Yes.”
“Then count on it. I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I—”
“Hey, kids!” Herb’s cheerful voice blasted through the mounting tension, scattering it.
He was quite a distance away, and Phil wondered if Rosie had cautioned him to make his presence known well in advance, in case something significant was taking place in the meadow. Turned out it had been.
Damon returned the greeting and stepped away from Phil. “Hey, Dad! Come see the progress we’ve made.”
“Whoa!” Herb came close enough that he didn’t have to shout. “You two accomplished a heck of a lot.”
“Phil gets the credit. The woman’s amazing.”
“I think you’re both amazing.” Herb beamed at them. “Rosie wants to know if you’re ready for some lasagna, so she sent me to check on things.”
Phil made a decision. “You know how I love Rosie’s lasagna, but I’m sweaty and tired. I want to go home, take a cool shower and put on my silk caftan before I even think about food.” She took satisfaction from Damon’s quick gulp when she’d mentioned the silk caftan.
“I completely understand,” Herb said. “Damon, do you want to hit the showers before dinner? There’s time. Lasagna will keep.”
“I definitely need to do that.” Damon flicked a glance at Phil. “Enjoyed working with you today. Looking forward to the next round.”
She smiled at him. “See you then.” Could be tonight, could be at dawn in the morning when she returned to the building site. If Damon wanted to keep their potential rendezvous a secret from Rosie, he wouldn’t have complete freedom of movement.
As she drove away, she realized he didn’t know her address. He could probably get that from...someone. But then she thought of something else. He didn’t have his own transportation. If he wanted to keep his visit on the down-low, he couldn’t borrow Herb and Rosie’s truck, so that left Cade’s. She wasn’t clear on how Cade and Lexi were working out their situation, so his truck might not be available, either.
Damon couldn’t very well walk to her house, although he might be motivated enough to do that. The scenario was fun to contemplate but unlikely to happen. By the time she reached home, she’d decided the chances of seeing Damon tonight were slim to none.
Her routine wouldn’t change much regardless, so she proceeded the way she always did on nights when she’d worked up a sweat doing her job. After a long, cool shower, she smoothed lotion over her tired muscles. Then she slipped into one of her three silk caftans, all in shades of blue and green.
In winter she wore flannel and slippers, but in summer she spent her evenings in caftans—and nothing else. The silk felt sensuous against her skin, especially without underwear.
Her dinner was a salad topped with fresh veggies. She opened a bottle of white wine. As she settled in front of the TV, she remembered to be grateful for the life she’d created even if she didn’t have a special someone sharing it.
Even if Damon showed up, which he probably wouldn’t, he’d only be around for less than a week. Maybe she’d be better off if he didn’t come over tonight, or any night. She talked a good game, but she might not be as happy about the temporary nature of their connection as she’d said.
She wanted to be happy with it. Intellectually, she accepted the idea of taking pleasure where she could find it, specifically when no Mr. Right happened to be on the horizon. A woman had needs.
Logically, if she could release some of the tension from those needs with Mr. Wrong, she wouldn’t be in deprivation mode if she met Mr. Right. She’d also be less likely to mistake Mr. Wrong for Mr. Right. Not everyone was as honest about their intentions as Damon.
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