Sultry Escapes: Waking Up to You. Leslie Kelly

or when he was working out on the grounds, and she was watching him while pretending she wasn’t at all interested.

      Any woman would be interested. It was bad enough seeing him inside at the hospital, clothed and respectable. When he worked, when he stripped off his shirt to wipe his sweaty, dirty face, and those muscles rippled and gleamed, he was male beauty in motion. The few times they had talked at home, she’d done everything she could to keep from revealing how incredibly attracted she was to him. Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job.

      She only wished he would do something to reveal whether or not he felt the same way. So far, he hadn’t. He’d been cordial and polite, never more than that, as if she’d suddenly become his employer now that Grandpa was out of commission.

       Got a task for you there, Mr. Groundskeeper. How about doing a little plowing for me?

      She scrunched her eyes shut, muttering, “Not French, not stupid, off-limits.”

      “Candace? Are you here?”

      “In the kitchen,” she said, not sure whether she was hoping he would turn right back around and leave, or that he’d stride in and accidentally squish Mr. Spider so she wouldn’t have to (A) deal with the arachnid herself, or (B) technically ask for Oliver’s help.

      “I just wanted to let you know your suitcase has finally made it. The delivery service just left it on the porch. I signed for it.”

      Oh, thank goodness. She’d been fighting with the airline about it all week, fearing she would have to put in a claim to replace everything she’d packed for the trip. She’d run out of her sister Madison’s left-behind clothes and had had to wash and rewash the few items she’d had in her small carry-on bag. Especially the panties. Hmm. Funny how she’d gone through panties at a record rate since she’d met Oliver. That man ought to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.

      “I’ll bring it in. Do you want me to haul it up to your room?”

      She nibbled her lip, wanting no such thing. Oliver in her bedroom, near her messed bed with the silky nightie tossed carelessly on top? Him filling her private space with that delectable, intoxicating man smell?

      Hell, no. She was already having the most intense, erotic dreams about the guy without ever having to picture him near her bed. No way was she going to invite even hotter ones.

      “No, it’s okay. You can just leave it in the hall.”

      She waited to hear him bring in the bag and leave. Waited for an acknowledgment—something. But there was nothing but silence. Frowning, she risked edging a tiny bit closer to the doorway, never taking her eyes off her fuzzy enemy, who showed no signs of moving out of the way. She briefly considered jumping over him, but had the most horrible vision of him launching up while she was split-legged above him. For all she knew, he could be the bug world-record holder at the high jump. Considering she wore nothing but the short robe, she wasn’t prepared to even think about where he might land if he leaped. Her vajayjay might have grown cobwebs from disuse, but that was taking things a step too far.

      She desperately wanted to go out and make sure Oliver was gone, then dash up the stairs and put some clothes on before he could come back, but it looked like she was going to be involved in a spider standoff for hours. Thinking, she finally grabbed the broom and tried waving it in his general direction. But it wasn’t until she got the bristles to within six inches or so that the thing began to move.

      Straight toward her.

      “No—get away from me!”

      A hard pounding emerged from the hallway. She recognized it as running footsteps just as Oliver burst into the kitchen. He didn’t hold a rake this time, but the look on his face said he expected trouble.

      “What is it?” he snapped as he scanned the room. “What’s wrong?”

      “Uh, nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. Though, when she saw where he stood, she didn’t have to force it any further. Because unless the creepy crawly had moved really fast, he was right now stuck to the bottom of a man’s thicksoled work boot. Although she loved most creatures, she wasn’t about to start playing a dirge for that one, who’d looked like a mad scientist’s experimental cross between a bug and a dinosaur.

      “Who were you talking to?”

      “Nobody. I thought you’d left.”

      “I was bringing in your suitcase,” he explained, walking closer, studying her face to see if she was lying, perhaps covering for a bad guy hiding in the pantry. He obviously wasn’t going to go away without an explanation.

      Knowing she had to, she admitted in a voice a little above a whisper, “There was a spider.”

      His frown disappeared. A twinkle might have appeared in those dark bedroom eyes, but he had the courtesy not to smile. “One that speaks English and follows orders?”

      “Ha-ha, very funny. That thing was huge. I mean, it could have been wearing a mask, swinging from webs and looking for the Green Goblin!”

      “Comic book fan, huh?”

      “Movie biz, remember?”

      And considering Tommy was hoping to be cast as the latest comic hero, he’d made her watch a bunch of them recently. She wasn’t a huge fan of the genre, but had to admit, some of those guys did an awesome job filling out their clingy costumes. She’d become a huge Jeremy Renner fan in the past year and fantasized about getting to dress him. Undressing him would be a mighty fine experience, too.

      “So where is this huge mutant creature?”

      “Gone.”

      “Where’d he go?”

      “I think onto the bottom of your shoe.”

      “You sure? I didn’t hear anything that sounded like the crushing of a colossus.”

      “Well, he’s not…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes rounded as she saw a black leg disappearing behind the table leg. She squeaked, grabbed his arm and ducked behind him. “Oh, God.”

      “What?”

      Keeping her voice low, as if they were facing a ravaging tiger, she replied, “He’s right over there.”

      He followed her gaze and snorted. “That’s your monster spider? He’s tiny.”

      “That thing’s as big as my hand!” Closing her eyes, she begged, “Please take it away, Oliver. I’ll pay you…. I’ll bake you a cake, cook you dinner. Just please get it out of here.”

      “Are you a good cook?”

      “The best. Excellent. Cordon Bleu. Restaurants vie for my services.”

      “Are you lying?”

      “Oh, hell, yes. Right through my teeth. Now would you please help me?”

      “I thought you didn’t need any help except in the most dire emergency.”

      “This is dire.”

      “Are you an arachnophobe?”

      “If that means I am utterly terrified to my bones and feel like I’m going to throw up if I so much as glimpse a spider, then yes, that’s me.”

      “Gotcha.”

      He didn’t tease her anymore, as if knowing she wasn’t playing the weak girlie-girl in some effort to entice him. Not, she hoped, that he would ever expect her to. Turning, he grabbed the dustpan, then unhooked her death grip from the broom. Drawing on his primal, caveman-hunter genes, he stalked the monster, deftly swept it into the pan and carried it toward the front door.

      “Are you just going to let it go?” she asked, following him. “What if it gets back in?”

      “I’m sure he’d be too afraid to risk it. You’re pretty intimidating.”