So, he was not here to ravish her. Which was good. It really was. She was relieved. Almost as relieved as she would have been to see someone with a severe wound at the door.
“You make it sound like I’m in big trouble,” she said, the words sounding a little softer and a whole lot more flirtatious than she intended.
Her body, it seemed, hadn’t realized what her mind had—which was that the ravishment was off the table, so to speak—and had gone into Mae West mode accordingly.
She tried to tell her inner hussy that he could not come up and see her sometime, but her heart was still beating at hyperspeed.
“That all depends on your definition of trouble, Miss Miller,” he said.
Oh, Lord, why did the way he said those words make a shiver of something rattle through her bones? Why? Why did she sort of wish she could go back to being in trouble with him?
She needed another shower. A colder one this time.
“Not really,” she said, her words terse. “It kind of depends on yours since you have legal backing.”
“I just want to give you a tour of the place. And discuss what is reasonable for the barbecue, and what isn’t.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling a little blindsided by his darn reasonableness. “But I’m not really sure what inspired you to play nice.”
“Must have been the azalea. And if you’ll excuse me, it’s my time off, and I’m going to go unwind.”
She really wished she could stop herself from imagining what all him unwinding might entail. She remembered the presumptively thick erection from earlier and imagined him settling down and unzipping his pants...
No. Bad Sadie!
“Well, you go...do that,” she said, forcing herself not to look down. Forcing herself to look only at his eyes and nowhere else, which, frankly, she felt she deserved a freaking medal for. His hardness had been pressed right up against her today and never—not once—had she given in to the urge to visually explore it.
“I will. And I’ll be here on Thursday morning. Very early. Be ready.”
“Bring coffee.”
He arched a brow. “All right. I will.”
And for some reason, that easy agreement before he walked down off the porch and into the fading light made her more nervous than any fight ever could have.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE LAST TIME someone knocked on her door this emphatically, it wasn’t because of an ax wound, and she had a terrible feeling it wasn’t this morning, either.
Sadie wiped her hands on her apron and then untied it, draping it over a chair as she walked to the door. “Coming!”
She smoothed her hair, then jerked the door open with a smile pasted onto her face.
And there was the man himself, the cause of the past four sleepless nights, looking awake and far too sexy for a man in a simple pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. And far too tempting.
She looked down at the mug of coffee in his hand. “So thoughtful of you,” she said, reaching out and snagging the bright blue-and-white-spotted tin mug and lifting it to her lips. “Mmm.”
“That was mine,” he said, pushing past her, “and are you going to invite me in?”
“You’re in,” she said, feeling warmed both by the coffee and by the implication that his lips had been on it. Which was juvenile in the extreme. She’d kissed him. What was the point of getting warm and sweaty over her lips touching a mug his lips had touched?
“So I am.”
She took another sip of coffee, fully aware of the awkwardness that was building as they stood in the doorway, making eye contact and with her drinking his drink. Her nipples prickled and she shifted, the motion seeming to draw his eye right down to the place that was currently feeling quite perky and obvious.
“Do you want to come sit at the table?” she asked. “I actually have more coffee. Lucky thing, since you didn’t bring any extra as instructed. And happily for you, my quiche of the day is ready.”
“You have coffee and you took mine?”
“It’s rude to turn down gifts, Eli. Didn’t you ever hear not to look a gift azalea in the mouth? Oh, no...you must not have heard that.”
“And gift quiche?”
“Same. It’s spinach. And salmon.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Well, I might be able to have some.”
They moved into the kitchen and she fought to breathe right. She went to the counter and got a knife, slicing a generous piece of quiche for Eli, before getting him coffee, and delivering both to his seat.
“You’re my guinea pig,” she said, watching him expectantly.
“You’re staring,” he said, looking at the food, then at her.
“Yeah, I want to see if you like it.”
“That’s...disconcerting.”
“Sorry. I’ll look the other way.” And she did. Obediently. Until he made a borderline orgasmic sound that sent a thrill straight down through to her midsection and...beyond. She looked back and watched his jaw working while he chewed. So weird, but she found the motion sexy. What the hell was wrong with her?
