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You wish. She tried to relax, tried to sink into the most comfortable mattress she’d ever lain on, but it wasn’t happening. Then he suddenly spoke.
“Considering how well you’ve taken everything that’s happened tonight, I think you might have earned a point or two in your favor. Hopefully your new boss will agree.”
She huffed out a little laugh, then consciously forced her muscles to clench, then relax. It was the only thing she knew of to distract herself from his presence. So close, but still a good distance away.
That’s the way she should want it, but a niggling desire wouldn’t be smothered. If what he’d said was true, she’d have to learn to live with lusting after her boss in the quiet recesses of her own mind.
Though she’d thought sleep wouldn’t show up, considering the thoughts running rampant through her brain, the steady sound of the rain, the exhaustion she couldn’t fight any longer and the even breath of the man a few feet away eventually lured her under.
She woke to a different environment altogether. Instead of rain, sunshine peeked through the slats that protected the windows. Heavy covers kept her warm. Her body, her muscles, felt languid, almost liquefied in her relaxation. Then something shifted against her leg and sleep was immediately a thing of the past.
Suddenly the weight against her back and lower body made more sense. It wasn’t a heavy blanket. It was a man.
Her heart picked up speed. She lay on her stomach. His chest seemed to be covering part of her back. Now that she knew what to look for, she could see his fingers against the covers on the opposite side of her body. His warm, musky scent clung to the sheets, tempting her to draw in a deep breath.
But would even that slight movement wake him up?
As incredibly sexy as this was, and as much as her body throbbed its approval, the last thing she wanted was to face him knowing his leg had slid between hers. Why hadn’t he stayed on his side of the football field?
He shifted, rubbing a warm, hairy leg against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The shirt he’d given her hung almost to her knees, but now she had a feeling her panties were exposed...and probably a little damp.
She needed out now. But how did she do that?
Above her hair, she heard a heavy sigh. The big body half covering hers stretched, pressing harder against her. A certain part of him was making its approval well-known. Willow bit her lip to keep a groan inside. Why did he have to feel so good?
Then he went absolutely still.
She squeezed her eyes shut. I don’t want to deal with this. And she certainly didn’t want him to see how much she enjoyed waking up to his body pressed against hers. But as he shifted infinitesimally, she braced herself for the inevitable awkward confrontation.
“Oh no,” he groaned softly behind her.
Oh yes. The only thing to do was guard her expression as best as possible and brave this out. Twisting around, she tried to blink innocently. “Sleep well?”
“Not my usual,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly enough to send tingles along her nerve endings.
She tried to ignore his heavy eyelids, sleepy expression and tousled black hair. But this whole “barely awake” look was short-circuiting her overloaded brain. “Pardon me?”
“Sleeping is usually a solitary experience.”
Even though the past twelve hours had proved that guests weren’t an option around here, she had a difficult time believing this hot, virile male only slept alone. “Seriously?”
Pulling away, he sat up on the edge of the bed. With him facing away from her, she couldn’t read his expression. She had a feeling that was on purpose.
His voice was low when he spoke, though not as gravelly as earlier. “I haven’t slept in the same room with another person since I was a teenager.”
As he walked away, Willow marveled for a moment. Considering how good it had felt to lie with him in this bed, she’d have thought he’d had plenty of experience in this area.
Or any area related to the bedroom.
* * *
Tate was glad Willow had disappeared by the time he came out of his dressing room. The tremor in his hands as he’d washed up and dressed had startled him.
The desire had hit him hard and fast.
Not since he’d been an untried youth had he been near a woman he had to have. His casual liaisons focused more on one-night stands to scratch an itch. He could appreciate a beautiful woman, even desire one. But urgency was definitely a thing of the past for him.
Yet his body’s response to Willow had been all-consuming. If it hadn’t been awkward enough to curb him, they would still be in his big bed—a whole lot more naked than they’d been upon awakening.
He breathed through the sudden surge of his body, waiting until his response died down before making his way out the door and downstairs. Instead of the sound of crashing thunder, the rooms now echoed with the rumble of waves beneath the house. The sound was muted as he moved down the hall to the kitchen.
There he found Willow bent over, inspecting the contents of the fridge. His body pulsed, responding to the sight of feminine curves encased in still-damp jeans.
His body was happy. His brain was not. This response was downright unsettling.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a little too gruff.
He felt bad about his tone when she jumped, bumping her ginger head into the lower edge of the freezer door. Her low moan made it worse, because it brought to mind things he shouldn’t be thinking about around her. He’d never had sex with anyone in Sabatini House since he’d become an adult. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that he hadn’t slept with anyone. Though why those words had come out in that moment, he had no idea.
Just say what you need to say and get out of here.
But words escaped him as she turned to face him. Seeing her in full sunlight was like living color compared with the black-and-white of last night. Willow had the classic pale skin of a redhead with just a fine dusting of freckles across her cheeks. She had emerald-green eyes, which was what he favored for the female characters he wrote about, but in person hers were so vibrant. She was tall for a woman, just as he’d noticed last night, but now he could see all the sexy curves he hadn’t had a chance to truly savor this morning.
He cleared his throat, glancing out the window behind her to steady himself. Which wasn’t as effective as looking seaside. That would have reminded him of exactly why this woman was off-limits to a man like him. But at least the view of the barren hill leading to the gates below calmed the resurgence of desire that thrummed through his veins.
As if his silence was an invitation, Willow jumped right in. “I’m just checking to see what the inventory is like.” Crossing to the island, she picked up a pen and tapped it against the pad of paper lying there. “The landline is still out, but when we can get through, here are some places I’ll call about the roof and repairs—with your permission, of course.”
Though he’d prefer to direct this discussion himself, focusing on action was a very good idea right now. “Why wait? I’ll get the satellite phone from my office.”
She raised a brow. “Murdoch didn’t mention that you had a satellite phone.”
“I prefer to forget I have it. My editor, Charles, insisted I get it because he got tired of my being out of reach and ignoring his emails. The landline goes down all the time out here. I only use it to call him and my agent and for emergencies.”
He could tell by her face that this little explanation puzzled her, but Tate wasn’t going out of his way to explain his eccentricities. That was the way he operated. She could take it or leave it.
He glanced over the list. “These two,” he said, pointing to a couple of companies he’d worked with in the past. She had good taste. “I’ll get your luggage while you put in the calls.”
“What? So you were serious—”
“If you haven’t slapped me yet, I guess we’re pretty close to compatible. And it saves me the time of searching for a housekeeper to hold me over for just two months.”
Willow started a little happy dance on her side of the island. Tate did his best to ignore the sway of soft body parts.
This decision was probably a mistake, but it was expedient. And after accosting her in his sleep he felt obligated to be rather generous.
“So let me know when they arrive, and I’ll show them around.”
“I can handle it,” she quickly countered.
Tate adopted his sternest expression. “But I know the house, so I will. Got it?”
“Yeeesss...” The drawn-out word made it clear she didn’t understand, but she would soon enough.
“I’ll give you a chance to clean up, then we’ll go over a few things,” he said, eager for a break from his unrelenting response to her presence.
“We can now,” she said, eagerness practically vibrating off her in waves. “I’m good.”
Maybe getting it over with was a good choice. Like ripping a bandage off a particularly sensitive patch of skin.
“Let’s start with the rules.”
She blinked, as if trying to comprehend what he was saying.
“What did Murdoch tell you?”
Her smile opened her face up, revealing a pleasure that sunk straight into Tate’s darkened heart. He couldn’t catch his breath for a moment. Luckily she didn’t notice as she bent over to pull a notebook from her backpack. Guess she wasn’t a designer purse kind of girl.
“He gave me a whole notebook on house procedures. Let’s see, gate and alarm codes, chore schedule, your favorite foods...”
But no real rules? Somehow at this point he wasn’t surprised. Yesterday he would have been. Not today.
But Tate was a big believer in start how you mean to go on...
“Rule number one. I am not to be disturbed.”
That seemed pretty self-explanatory, but Willow still asked, “You mean when you’re writing?”
Tate refused to show the jolt of surprise that shot through him. “So Murdoch told you what I do for a living?”
“Actually, the fact that you’re an author is pretty well-known and speculated on in Savannah. Though no one has been able to crack the answer to what you actually write.”
“And Murdoch didn’t share that.”
The solemn shake of her head didn’t dampen the curiosity in her expression. But he wasn’t about to satisfy her with an answer. Instead he ignored the whole line of questioning.
“Actually, when I’m in my office at all, I’m not to be disturbed. I’ll come down at the set mealtimes I’m sure Murdoch gave you.”
Willow quickly moved on. “What about mail? Do you want your mail when it comes, or for me to wait for a meal and give it to you then?”
As she opened her mouth to say something else, Tate raised his hand for her to stop. “Do. Not. Disturb. Understand?”
He could see another question brewing in those green eyes, but he forged ahead. “Rule number two. No talking about me or anything that happens here or that you see here outside of these premises.”
“What about with my family?”
That wasn’t an issue Tate had ever run into with Murdoch. He and his family had been estranged for the first ten years he had worked here, but even after the reconciliation Murdoch hadn’t shared important details of his job with them. He’d simply gotten into the habit of keeping Tate’s issues private.
But Willow’s family might be a different story.
“I think that rule is self-explanatory,” he said, injecting a stern note into his tone.
“Actually, it’s not,” Willow said. “I mean, I’m guessing you want me to keep quiet about who you are, since Murdoch did. What about the house? Can I talk about it? Am I supposed to keep quiet about everything I see? Where’s the line? Can I tell my family how to contact me?”
“Of course.”
She’d asked more than one question, and the litany confused him. Murdoch was a quiet, loner type. Willow was not quiet...at all.
“Of course you can tell your family the landline number, as long as they don’t abuse it or share it,” he amended. “But my home, my business, are to be kept private at all times.”
“Do I need to sign a nondisclosure agreement?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
The rapid shake of her head sent wisps of red hair flying. Man, that was gorgeous. This woman was all living color. He looked back out the windows.
“Certain rooms in the house are off-limits to everyone but me.”
“Murdoch mentioned that, but how will I know which ones they are?”
“Good God, woman, do you ever stop asking questions?”
Tate looked back at her just in time to see her blink hard. For a moment, he feared he might be facing tears, but no. Just a sad “Sorry. I guess I just want to do it right the first time.”
Man, I’m such a jerk.
Tate’s brain scrambled to rectify the situation. He heard himself say, “I’ll take you around and show you.” Until now, he’d had no intention of doing any such thing.
And the way her eyes lit up made him think what should be a simple thirty-minute walk would turn into hours of her asking questions he didn’t want to answer. “Later,” he added.
He might need to fortify himself with a drink...or two...beforehand.
Four (#uaf29149e-ccf7-505c-b22d-47c96151c2b0)
Willow wasn’t stupid.
She knew her curiosity tended to get on people’s nerves. A lifelong learner—that’s what one of her professors in college had called her. The insatiable curiosity and hunger for knowledge made her annoying to some people and boring to most.
Her sisters loved pretty dresses, nail polish and all things feminine. And while Willow had a good enough eye to help them pick things out, she had no desire for those things herself. Instead she was excited by books, old houses and antiques. If there was a mystery to go along with them, all the better.
She seemed to get on Tate’s nerves more than most. Which was too bad. Because he was a hunk.
All those glorious muscles, that messy hair and brooding intense stare. He matched the mysterious house to perfection... But he wasn’t well matched with her. She could tell he’d enjoyed her much more in his sleep—when she wasn’t talking.
After a morning spent inspecting the kitchen and fixing his lunch, she waited impatiently for him to finish eating. He took his time in the breakfast nook, while she struggled not to eagerly bounce from foot to foot in the kitchen. She’d snuck a peek at some of the adjacent rooms, but she was eager to see the rest of the house...even if it was just a tour for him to show her what she wasn’t allowed to touch.
Finally he brought his plate back into the kitchen.
“Is it time now?” she asked, then pressed her lips together, inwardly chastising herself for her impatience.
