Indulge Me. Joanne Rock

that was Rosemary.

      Her hands left her breasts, which suited him fine. The easier to see her with, my dear, and the view was spectacular. Except then her hands took a trip to the sides of her bikini bottoms and began to edge them down, one side a fraction of an inch, then the other, as her hips continued their ’round and ’round and back and forth and forward and back journey, a journey he wanted desperately to join them on because he knew what destination they’d lead him to.

      The bikini slid the last several smooth inches down her thighs, knees, calves, ankles and hit the floor. She turned and faced him, making direct eye contact through the glass. Well…eventual direct eye contact. His eyes were busy briefly before they made it up to hers. He was a guy, he couldn’t help it.

      Silence. Stillness. Emotions swirling in him—desire, and something softer, like tenderness, which he didn’t understand, hadn’t felt for anyone since Annie, and not even for her this soon after they’d met.

      The scraper chose that moment to slide off the uneven stone sill and clatter to the ground. He didn’t blame it. There wasn’t much holding him up, either—with the exception of the obvious, which had no trouble standing straight and proud.

      Now what?

      Okay, he wasn’t that lame. He knew what. But should he? He was working here; he was her employee in a sense. Maybe she was one of those women who seduced then cried rape. A charge like that could ruin his career.

      But he knew she wasn’t. How? He didn’t know. He knew being with her would be carnal and exciting and sweet all at the same time, and he didn’t know how he knew that, either.

      He also didn’t know how he was going to face his sister, who’d said all these same stupid and illogical things about her husband hours after they’d met, which had precipitated the most bitter fight he and Katie had ever had as siblings, one that worsened when she’d eloped and one from which they still hadn’t recovered, to both their sadness. But so far, not regret.

      His feet seemed to have decided what to do, or maybe it was that other part of him. He nodded at Rosemary and climbed down the ladder, suddenly aware of his less-than-fresh condition, having rolled out of bed at the last possible second into his clothes and a cup of coffee to stand in the sun all day.

      Ripe, to say the least.

      Still led by his feet or maybe the part that stuck out the farthest and felt the most eager, he found her back door unlocked, found the oak staircase and climbed toward heaven.

      At the doorway to her room, he stopped. A double room, a master bedroom suite in addition to the other two bedrooms he’d glimpsed. Unusual for these old houses, which usually fit only two bedrooms upstairs. Beautiful room, hardwood floors, decorative molding and thick solid doors. She’d decorated in a way that suited his taste—dark wood furniture, classic prints on the walls, colorful rugs, subdued rose-beige walls—nothing too modern or too girlie.

      That analysis took him all of five seconds, which was all he was willing to dedicate to the decor. The woman interested him far more.

      He walked through the outer room and paused at the arched entrance to her bedroom. She lay on the king-size bed, modestly covered by a sheet, expression slightly apprehensive, which put him at ease. If she was nervous then she wasn’t a habitual man-eater.

      “Hi.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it, but at least he didn’t giggle. “You, uh, caught my eye in here.”

      She laughed, which he liked. Not nervously, but as if she understood and enjoyed his understatement. “Noticed me, did you?”

      “I don’t think I’ve noticed anything quite that much in a long time.”

      “Mmm, really?”

      “Mmm, really.” He moved forward until his thighs in their shorts rested against the bottoms of her feet. Now she even looked familiar. Had he seen her before? But there’d been no moment of recognition when he’d first set eyes on her three days earlier. “I was wondering…”

      “Yes?”

      “If there was something you needed my help doing.”

      Her eyes stayed on his, her hand pushed up into her hair as she adjusted her head on the pillow. “There is, yes.”

      “What’s that?” He reached down, rested his hands lightly on her ankles.

      “I want to come.”

      Sexual adrenaline surged. He made himself look calm. “And you don’t want to do that alone?”

      “Not this time, no.”

      “Hmm.” He pretended to consider. “You know, I think I can help you.”

      The touch of shyness in her smile pierced him. “I thought maybe you could.”

      “But…I could use a shower first.”

      “Oh.” She bunched her lips as if trying to tolerate pain. “I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

      He gave her foot an affectionate squeeze. “Trust me, you’ll be happier if I’m clean.”

      “Yes. Okay.” She let out a long sigh of near despair.

      “Bathroom’s to the right and straight ahead. Clean towels in the closet next to it. And, Garrett?”

      “Garrett?”

      “My name for you. It means ‘with a mighty spear.’”

      He laughed—nervously. Though mighty was open to interpretation. “Yes, Rosemary.”

      “Rosemary?”

      “Mine for you.” He realized she was waiting expectantly. “It means Rose…Mary.”

      Her brief laughter turned into the smile that was way too fast becoming familiar and dear to him. “Good enough. Now go. And don’t forget to come back. This is my first-ever seduction and I want to make sure it happens.”

      He nodded and left the room before his latest ridiculous surge of emotion became visible. He was her first. God, he needed to get a grip.

      Showering at the speed of light wasn’t humanly possible, but his didn’t happen much slower. He didn’t bother putting his sweaty paint-smelling clothes back on but wrapped the thick, generous towel around his waist. A glance in the mirror, wondering what the hell she saw in what he’d always considered average looks and build. Maybe she considered him a sure thing for her first attempt at seduction, given how much virtual drooling he’d done over her?

      He’d rather think there was something powerful and exciting between them. Which would most likely get more powerful and more exciting in the very near future.

      The hardwood creaked under his feet in that comforting way of old houses, to remind those inside not to forget their surroundings.

      “Hi.” Rosemary sounded shy again.

      “I’m clean.”

      “So you are.” One dark brow arched briefly. “While I am still feeling pretty dirty.”

      He knelt on the edge of the bed then stretched out beside her, no longer nervous, thank God, though he usually was the first time with someone, certainly had been a wreck with Annie. “I promised to help you with that. And I will.”

      “Very grateful.” She lay on her side, facing him, both hands under her cheek. “I was serious when I said I’ve never done this before.”

      “Had sex with a stranger?”

      “I did that once. In college. But I was drunk and he was, too, and I bet neither of us remembers much about it. Probably just as well.” She considered him thoughtfully. “It’s funny, you don’t seem like a stranger. But I’m sure I don’t know you.”

      “I’m sure I’d remember you.”

      “Thank you.” She blushed and lowered