He headed towards the bar. ‘You got a mop? So I can swab the floor?’
‘Seriously?’ A laugh burst out of her mouth, breaking the tension in the room—the pragmatic offer from someone of his power and influence and wealth completely incongruous.
‘Yeah, seriously,’ he said, the twinkle in his dark eyes making her heartbeat accelerate.
Oh, no, you don’t, Ellie. Don’t you dare fall for that industrial-strength charm again.
She jumped off her stool, and headed for the utility cupboard, needing something to do.
‘I appreciate you coming here, and apologising,’ she threw over her shoulder, hoping he would take the hint. ‘And I understand now why you freaked out.’ Maybe not about the virginity thing, but she certainly wasn’t about to mentionthatagain. ‘But I’ve got this now.’
Grabbing the bucket, she sprinkled in soap power then turned on the hot tap.
But then his big body was enveloping hers again, his hard chest warm against her back, as he leant past her to switch the tap off and lifted the heavy bucket out of her hands. She took in another tantalising lungful of that delicious scent.
She reached for the bucket. ‘Really, I’m good, you should go.’
He hoisted the bucket out of her reach. ‘I’ve got this, Eleanor.’
She shivered, the way her given name—the name no one called her but him—rumbled off his tongue somehow unbearably erotic.
She tried to forget the other skilful things his tongue had done to her before her goosebumps got goosebumps.
‘How the hell else am I going to buy enough of your time to talk you into a Thanksgiving booty call?’ he added.
Another laugh bubbled out. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was already too late, his eyes had taken on that predatory gleam that proved he could see right through her resistance—and was going to enjoy changing her mind.
‘You’re absolutely incorrigible,’ she said, wanting to sound stern, and getting breathless instead, when his gaze slid over her features with a singular purpose that made her heartbeat accelerate and her skin burn...Everywhere.
‘I’ve been told it’s one of my best features,’ he said, that devastating smile warming her from the inside out.
He leaned past her to grab the mop from the corner of the cupboard, but as he pulled back she made the mistake of looking up, and found herself trapped in that piercing hazelnut gaze—rich with appreciation.
The moment seemed suspended in time, heavy with possibilities.
His mouth descended slowly, giving her time to refuse, then slanted across hers. Her breath gushed out, the bold kiss making need spear through her body and ignite the devastating heat all over again.
He drew away moments later, but even so she felt dazed when he winked at her. ‘Hold that thought,’ he said, then marched out of the cupboard leaving her breathless and shaky and stupidly aroused.
Blast the man.
As she watched him mop the floor for her, she could feel all her perfectly valid objections to spending Thanksgiving weekend with him fade with each erratic heartbeat.
After he’d rinsed out the bucket and put away the mop, he levelled the intense gaze back at her as he rolled his sleeves down, re-buttoned the cuffs and grabbed his jacket.
‘Okay, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘It’s make-your-mind-up time. Are you coming with me to my house in the Adirondacks for a do-over Thanksgiving booty call, or are you staying in Staten Island to die of boredom?’
She stared at him, the heat pulsing at her core, but much more disturbing was the tug of yearning in her chest. Because it felt like the same longing that had dogged her throughout her childhood and adolescence on Moira. The longing for adventure, but also the need to belong...
Maybe she could have resisted Alex Costa’s arrogant charm, his breathtaking sex appeal, his gorgeous physique and the uber-sexy take-charge confidence. She might even have been able to resist the thought of spending the weekend in his luxury lake house and all the exciting things she could already imagine him doing to her needy, far too inexperienced body... But one thing she couldn’t resist was the glimpse of the man she’d seen when he’d spoken of his friend, of protecting him and standing by him. Or the sight of that broad strong body wearing two-thousand-dollar shoes, designer suit trousers and a deluxe shirt that had probably also cost a small fortune, now all liberally splattered with dirty water.
Who knew that watching Alex Costa do barroom chores would be her downfall?
She tried to lock down the stupid pulse of emotion in her chest...
She didn’t have a connection with Alex Costa, other than a surprisingly intense sexual one. And she didn’t belong in his rarefied world any more than he belonged in hers—despite his surprising willingness to do her chores for her. But what would be so wrong about exploring the connection they did have, for one adventurous weekend?
‘I hope I don’t regret this,’ she said at last. ‘But the answer’s yes.’