“Listen, Luke. I was about to get ready to go into work. And actually, I did like the way you organized all my things. So, if you really want to help, you can do the guest room and my office, and the closets. Just don’t…just don’t throw anything away. I’m not ready yet.”
Luke watches me, looking like he can see the real me. But how is that possible? I haven’t told him anything about what all this junk lying around my house actually means to me.
“I wouldn’t dream of throwing anything away unless you expressly told me to.”
I move to the stairs to start getting ready for work, but then I hesitate. “Aren’t you supposed to, like, be cleaning someone else’s house today? I mean, you do work for the agency, don’t you?”
The expression on Luke’s face is slightly mischievous. “I’ve decided to branch out.”
I smile. “By branching out, you mean coming back to the same house? How does that work?”
He shrugs. “It’s a work in progress.”
Chapter Nine
Luke
What I don’t tell her is that I ended my employment at Maid for You.
Maybe that was a dumb move.
But it was dumb of me to lie on my résumé in the first place.
What I really feel is the need to be near Stella at all costs. If that means spending my days helping her organize her house and waiting tables at night to pay off my debt, then so be it.
I’ll figure it out. Maybe it’s an incredibly stupid move. Or maybe I’ll become a full-time housekeeper for her. I am pretty handy, so you never know.
If all goes well, maybe a live-in housekeeper. She needs one, and I need a job.
But I have to try—both at making a career and at pursuing Stella.
I haven’t yet laid a hand on this woman but I hurt when I’m not around her. That’s as good a reason as any to quit pursuing acting to pursue her instead.
When she comes downstairs after getting ready for work, she bowls me over. As if she didn’t look stunning yesterday all in red, today she looks ethereal in light blues and more loose fabrics.
“Wow,” I say before I can stop myself.
She beams at me. “Thanks.”
We share an awkward silence and she says. “I’m gonna go, I guess. So you…do whatever you need to do to get my house in order.”
Her eyes land on my mouth while she’s speaking to me.
Thank god I’m not wearing gray sweatpants today. I chose jeans to hide the twitch that happens inside them. Wonder what she’s thinking about when she’s staring at my mouth like that?
I can guess.
“Right, well. Off I go. I’ll see you when I get home.”
“And when will that be?”
A smirk tugs at her lip. “Late. Here’s the new code for when you leave.”
Stella slides a slip of paper toward me along the marble countertop, and my big, rough hand just brushes against her when I reach for it. We barely touch at all—the pad of my index finger brushes the top of one of her fingernails. The spark penetrates my skin, magically imprinting itself on every muscle, vessel, bone, and nerve inside me.
The effect of that touch is totally different from that of our first handshake. The handshake was nice. Coupled with her shy smile, it was completely disarming. But this simple touch—an incidental moment with no intent but full of consequence—feels as if we’re opening a door to each other.
What’s going to happen beyond that door is a mystery I’m very prepared to explore. To not do so would be denying a lot of overwhelming attraction at this point.
My hand slides away and our eyes make contact for a second too long before she wishes me a good day.
But she doesn’t leave.
The next thing I know, Stella is leaning in.
I pull her into my arms as her handbag falls to the floor.
Chapter Ten
Stella
Whoa. So this is happening.
I’ve thought about it. Fantasized about it.
I’m officially his client. Am I really going to let this happen?
The clatter of lipstick tubes falling out of my bag as they hit the kitchen tile underlines the fact that I’ve lost control of myself.
Luke’s lips claim mine so fully, I feel my knees nearly give out. I relax into him, and his huge arms squeeze my body against his.
For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve thought about wanting to do this.
About how his eyes, his smile, his voice saying my name shot electricity through my body, out to my toes, my lips, my nipples.
It’s a gentle kiss but in no way hesitant. He knows what he’s doing, knows just how to angle down to meet my face, just the right amount of pressure and suction for a first kiss. Just enough of everything to make me feel both relieved that we’ve broken the awkward tension, but also excited and curious about what’s next.
I’m comforted by the idea that I get to inhale his scent without looking like a weirdo. Desert sage and some kind of moisturizer. Of course he takes care of his skin; he’s an actor, after all.
I take back what I said before. I never had control in the first place, not as soon as I laid eyes on this guy. I can get control of my emotions and organize a company to work efficiently and effectively, but I have no control of the flood of emotions that surges whenever I’m around this person. I tried, but I don’t want to try anymore.
Kissing him is exactly what I thought it would be, only amplified by a thousand.
His soft lips alternate between tasting me and letting me taste him. Luke’s strong hands explore my back and in my mind I’m cursing the layers of designer fabric separating his hands from my bare skin.
As if he knows I’ve been thinking about his rough hands, Luke cups my face in them. It feels like he’s holding a delicate china teacup, trying his best not to crack or chip me.
I shouldn’t be giving in like this. I have to go to work.
But his skin smells so good up close, and the friction of his stubble against my skin is starting a fire inside my belly.
I want to touch more of him; I want to feel his skin against mine.
“This is going to sound crazy forward, but can I touch your stomach?”
Luke looks at me as if I do, in fact, sound crazy. But not for the reasons I think. “Most women I’ve been with before don’t ask permission. So, thank you. And, hell yes.”
I gasp when he peels off his shirt. Sure, I ogled this body last night when I came home. Guys like him live in my fantasies only. Such a far-flung fantasy, I usually don’t even imagine guys like him. I’ve only ever dated guys with softer bodies. I never even imagined getting turned on by someone with this much muscle. It always seemed like too much, unrealistic. Probably not great for cuddling with all that hardness everywhere.
But up close, it’s working for me. So much coiled strength in those arms. So much hard work went into achieving this much muscle. The thought of how sweet he is, yet so strong, is a comfort. His ease with me makes me want to test him out, climb him, see how long he can hold me up while I ride his cock.
I run the palm of my hand over his washboard abs and my insides quiver when I watch what happens. Goose flesh forms on his skin under my touch. He lets out a sigh that’s full of meaning—he likes it but he’s holding something back. Is he stopping himself from guiding my hand lower?