Close Contact. Lori Foster

would be soon enough.

      She looked up at him. “After we eat, do you think you could keep watch while I shower and make myself presentable?”

      Surprise lit his eyes before he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.” This time as they walked, it was without tripping over cats, since they were all still eating. “Maybe now’s a good time for you to tell me how you want this to work.”

      How it should work? If she had her way, he’d be with her 24/7, including in the shower and while she slept.

      If she could sleep.

      Instead, she lied, saying, “I thought you could use the downstairs bedroom and bath, and I’d use them upstairs.”

      “Hell.”

      She jumped on that. “What? That doesn’t work for you? You had something else in mind?”

      He was silent for a bit, his jaw flexing. “Let’s see the house first, then I’ll make recommendations.”

      Recommendations, her butt. Had he hoped for an entirely separate place to stay? An apartment over the barn? She almost snorted. If he wanted to sleep with the cats in a pile of hay, let him.

      Fat lot of good that would do her when something else happened.

      Dejected, she followed along without saying anything. Before they got too far into this arrangement, she needed to clear the air about why she’d walked away from him, when everything in her had begged her to stay, to push for more.

      Perhaps during the drive back to his place. For now, she’d take comfort in the fact he was here with her, and she wouldn’t have to face the next catastrophe alone.

      Unfortunately, the next catastrophe happened almost as soon as she stepped into the house.

       CHAPTER THREE

      MILES STEPPED AHEAD of Maxi on the back porch and tried the door. It opened. “Not locked?”

      “It’s how I got back in to get my purse. It wasn’t locked then either and you can bet I didn’t bother once I had what I needed. I just got away.”

      “Understandable.” He stepped into the area and looked to the left at the small bedroom, then to the right up the stairs. Maxi’s room would be up there. He’d check that out in a minute.

      Peeking past him, she asked, “You hear anything?”

      “No.”

      “Thank God.” She stepped in around him, saying, “The kitchen is this way. Let’s go there first and—”

      The second she stepped around the wall onto the old-fashioned tiles in the kitchen, her feet came out from under her and she landed flat on her back with a thud. Her bottom half was in the kitchen, her head and shoulders visible from the hall.

      With a curse, Miles jogged forward, glanced around for any signs of danger, saw nothing more than a hideous kitchen and knelt beside her. “Stay still,” he said, before she could move.

      She wheezed, squeezing her eyes shut.

      Of course, he saw the puddle of dark oil on the floor beneath her. He twisted around, looking into every corner that he could see, but the house was quiet, and they appeared to be alone. There were no remnants left behind, not even the empty can from where the oil had been poured.

      “Hell of a spill.” He was so pissed he could have chewed nails, but he tried to sound calm. “You okay?”

      Gulping air, her expression pained, she didn’t attempt to answer.

      “You knocked the wind out of yourself.” He pulled her arms straight up and said, “Try to calm down. Breathe slowly.”

      She caught her breath with a vengeance, hissing, “Blast.”

      “Easy now.” He helped her to sit up...in the oil. “I’m guessing that wasn’t here when you came in for your purse and boots?”

      “No.” Disgusted, she lifted her hands, now slick, and curled her lip. “It’s soaked into my shorts.”

      Keeping a hand on her, Miles looked around. “I don’t see it anywhere else, and there are no tracks.” But good Lord, the house... Now that she was okay, he really saw it. “You actually live here?”

      She shot him a deadly glare. “Yes.” And then, as if a dare, she asked, “Why?”

      He wasn’t touching that. “Just doesn’t look like you.” Hell, it looked like a grandma’s place—from maybe a century ago. “I’m guessing everything is original?”

      “Pretty much.” She started to stand, slipped to her butt again, and Miles stayed her.

      “Wait.” He got to his feet first, saw a roll of paper towels on the counter and grabbed them. He ripped off several, giving them to her so she could clean her hands. Then, being sure to keep out of the oil, he caught her under her arms and lifted her upright. “Hold on to my shoulders and I’ll help you out of those boots.”

      Grumbling, she said, “My feet are probably sweaty now. This sucks so badly.”

      Trying to hide his smile, he promised, “I’ll hold my breath.”

      “I’m going to ruin your shirt.”

      “It’s a black T-shirt. You can’t ruin it.”

      “Suit yourself.” Her small hands settled on him—and that put her breasts far too close to his face.

      Forcing himself to look down, he tugged off first one boot, waiting as she put that foot to the side of the mess, then he removed the other. Her feet were small and narrow, yes, a little sweaty, and incredibly cute.

      He glanced up the length of her long slim legs, pausing at the denim zipper in her soft, worn, body-hugging cutoffs. A drop of oil rolled down the outside of her left leg. “Your shorts are dripping.”

      Letting out a tiny, shaky breath, she shifted her feet. “Yeah.”

      Absurd the way lust bit into him. Hell, someone had terrorized her last night, they’d returned to a million hungry cats and another prank in her house, and all he could think about was leaning forward and pressing his face to her belly, going lower, breathing her in, tasting her.

      He loved the sounds Maxi made while her climax built.

      When he felt her hands tightening on his shoulders, he murmured, “Maybe you should drop them, too?” Somehow, he’d keep it together.

      “Yeah.” But she didn’t move.

      Up to him, then. Damn. “Let’s see if we can do this without getting the oil anywhere else.” He reached for the snap to her shorts.

      Maxi drew in her breath and held it.

      Trying to remember that he had a plan, he said as he slid down her zipper, “Maybe that shower should come first?” It wasn’t deliberate, but his knuckles grazed her.

      “First?” she croaked.

      He glanced up and got caught in her dark-eyed gaze. “Before we grab something to eat.”

      “Oh. Eat. Right.”

      What had she thought? That he meant sex? Hell of an idea, but the timing was all wrong.

      And why was she thinking that anyway? He could understand how he got distracted, but she was terrified, and that should damn well keep her focused.

      It was enough that he had to fight himself; he couldn’t fight her, too.

      Tamping down natural urges, Miles worked the snug shorts over her hips.

      Her fingers dug into his muscles as he bent to help her step out—and then she stood there in her panties.