“Fat chance,” she muttered, wondering at the way he grinned in response to her unintentional remark.
“Then sit uncomfortably,” he shrugged. “I won’t be long.”
She held onto the clothes, still reluctant to hand them over. But as a guest in his home, did she have any right to dig her heels in and insist to be shown to the laundry? What if it was a personal part of the home? What if it was near his bedroom, and he didn’t want…she tamped down on the train of thoughts immediately. Thinking of his bedroom and trying to not overheat was making her brain hurt. “Okay, thanks.”
She watched him walk away without realizing it, her eyes trailing from the top of his head down his broad shoulders, straight back, trim waist and muscular buttocks, so she was all kinds of warm before she reached for the coffee and curved her hands around the cup, walking towards the country chic kitchen table. She placed the coffee on the edge but resisted taking a seat, her eyes drawn to the view instead. She tried to take comfort from its beauty, but her heart was hammering so loudly she could hardly think straight. How exactly had she ended up here? And why? It wasn’t just about getting clean. He’d said he wanted to talk to her about something. So what?
Her pulse ratchetted up a gear and she took a sip of the coffee before realizing it was probably the last thing she needed. Her pulse was already firing wildly.
“Okay, the washing’s on.”
“Thanks,” she said again, frowning a little as she looked at him.
“You’re nervous.”
“No, more confused.”
“Ah. Why?”
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something. What is it?”
“Straight to the point?”
“I don’t see any reason to beat about the bush,” she shrugged.
He skimmed her face with his curious, all-seeing eyes, then nodded. “You’re right. It’s better to get down to business.”
“Do we have business together?”
“I’m hopeful we will.”
She frowned. “Really?”
He nodded once. “I have a proposition for you.”
Something like a warning siren blared in Skye’s mind. Anything that looked too good to be true usually was, and Matthieu was the epitome of that. Whatever proposition he was about to make, some internal alarm told her she should run a mile. “Go on,” she invited, but haltingly, so he surely must have known how cautiously she was treading.
Sure enough, he grinned, as if amused by her doubt. “It’s not bad,” he promised.
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” He walked towards the coffee cup, taking a sip. “And you are, of course, free to say no.”
“To what?”
“My proposition.”
“Well, tell me what it is and I’ll tell you what I’m going to say.”
He laughed, the soft sound filling the air and charging her blood with way too much electricity. “Fine. Then here it is. Skye, I want you to agree to marry me.”