Page 39 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alice
Only fools judge others for their mistakes.
“Where’s your mom?”
I look over my shoulder at Murphy in his swim trunks and baseball cap. Wiping the dirt from the garden off my hands, I sit back on my heels.
“Visiting your nephew?” he asks.
I stiffen.
“You have a brother, right? You met Callen the day you were watching your nephew’s soccer game. Right?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “No. My mom is shopping. Waiting for me to get done working so we can spend time together.”
“But she’s going to visit her grandson, right?”
“You’re awfully concerned about someone you’ve never met. Is this because you have nothing better to do since pissing off your fiancée this morning?”
Murphy frowns. “She told you about the ick?”
“No.” I stand, brushing off my butt. “Before I came outside, I overheard her venting to Vera.”
“Eavesdropping?”
“No. I’m just not deaf.”
His gaze sweeps along my entire body. “Is wearing that dress to work in the garden weird?”
I laugh. “It would be if you did it. You’re too tall, and the skirt would ride up your ass.”
“Funny.”
“Think you can do me a quick favor before you relax by the pool?” I ask.
“Why are you saying it like all I do is relax by the pool?”
I shuffle toward the guesthouse, assuming he’ll follow me. “Why are you so on edge?”
“I’m not on edge. I’m owly.”
I giggle. “Sorry. Owly .”
“What do you need me to do? You’re eating into my short break. I have to get back to work soon.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re on Blair’s shit list. Did I not make your coffee strong enough this morning?” I open the sliding door and kick off my canvas gardening sneakers.
“I’m on everyone’s shit list today. Blair’s. Vera’s. Hunter’s. And I’m sensing you’re putting me on yours too. When will your mom be back? Maybe I can piss her off, too, and bat a thousand today.”
I shoot him a narrow-eyed look before leading him to the bathroom. “Vera said she’s fine with me changing the showerhead in here, but I can’t get the old one off. Can you?”
Murphy parks his hands on his hips and inspects it for a few seconds while I inspect him in his low-hanging trunks and no shirt.
Tight abs.
Sinewy arms with blue veins.
He grips the showerhead and tries to turn it. Then he shakes out his hands and tries again. This time, it loosens, and he removes it for me.
Damn. That body.
His face comes into my visual frame, and I realize he’s bent to the side, ducking to put himself in my line of sight which is glued to his half-naked torso.
I swallow hard. “Th-thanks.” I take the showerhead.
“I know I’m the bad guy today, but it’s not as if my actions have been unprovoked. And when you look at me like that, my last fiber of control feels really fucking close to snapping.”
“I’m not looking at you?—”
“You are.” He kicks the bathroom door shut and backs me against it.
My breath dies in my chest, suffocating my response. What the hell is happening?
“Two weeks,” he says in a tone that sounds like a mix of anger and pain as he rests his hands on the door above my head. The heat of his body penetrates my dress and permeates into my veins. “Two. Fucking. Weeks.”
I ball my hands at my sides to keep from touching him because he’s not mine.
“Callen. Your boyfriend. I hate him.”
I lift my gaze. “Well, fuck what you think, because I want to kill your perfect fiancée. ”
Murphy smirks before ducking his head and brushing my cheek with his scruffy jaw until I feel his breath at my ear. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, unbutton your dress.”
My insides liquify under the heat of my skin. I know better. So does he. Did I survive death and a mental breakdown only to destroy another woman’s life?
No.
Still, I unclench my fists and slowly work the buttons of my dress, stopping just above my navel, chest heaving with impossibly hard breaths as Murphy’s lips brush along my neck, not kissing, just touching. Then they feather along the swell of my breasts to the edge of my satin and lace bra.
Wetting my lips, I part them on a heavy blink.
His mouth hovers over my nipple on the outside of my bra. My fingers ache to dive into his hair.
“God…” I seethe, smacking my hands flat against the door when he bites my nipple and gives it a firm tug before sucking it just as hard. My knees collapse inward, and I swear I’m a breath away from orgasming just from that.
He doesn’t move his hands from the door, not one touch beyond his lips and teeth. After releasing me, he repeats the same thing with my other nipple.
I hiss. It hurts and feels good at the same time. My eyes pinch shut, each breath harsher than the one before as I arch my back. He lifts his head, our lips so close to touching that I feel like his last breath is my next.
“Button your dress and get back to work,” he whispers, letting his hand slide down the door to open it.
I gasp a silent breath and step away from the door so my back is to him.
Closing my eyes, I button my dress and wait for him to leave.
When I hear the sliding door, I fall toward the sink, hands on either side, holding me up.
The pink-cheeked reflection in the mirror is unrecognizable. She’s not me.
I wouldn’t let another woman’s fiancé do that to me.
Would I?