Whatever he was going to say was lost. Because Donna did the only thing she could think of to get his attention.
She whipped off her top.
Chapter 10
One second Duncan was distracted by some work vans coming up the driveway. The next he couldn’t see anything but Donna, standing in front of him, wearing a pink flowery bra where her blouse used to be.
“What. . .” He’d intended to ask what she was doing, but the words caught in his throat because she was unzipping her trousers and shimmying out of them.
“It just occurred to me,” she said in a breathless, husky voice that went straight to his groin. “Real artists always paint their models naked.” Her cheeks had flushed a deep ruby pink now, and there was a madly determined, slightly panicked, glint in her eyes.
These details Duncan picked up in passing because his gaze was firmly stuck on the smooth curves of her body, shown to perfection in her matching lingerie.
“Wha . . .” He tried again. No, Still no sentences. Because, as he started to speak, Donna turned and leaned over to shut the blind.
She rested one hand on the sofa as she tugged at the cord with the other. The action lifted her behind out towards him, like an offering. His mouth went dry. He lost the ability to think, to speak. All he could see was the voluptuous curve of Donna’s backside, encased in silky French-cut panties with pink flowers blooming all over them.
His fingers itched to touch as his jeans became far too tight. A roaring need rushed through him. One he hadn’t felt since his wife had died. Or maybe, had never felt. His attraction to Fiona had always been a gentle thing. What Donna’s curves made him feel was nowhere near gentle. There was a loud roaring in his ears, and his whole body grew tense, alert and primed for action. Every instinct he possessed told him to touch and taste. He shook with the effort to hold himself back.
This was Donna.
His housekeeper.
There were lines. Ones a man didn’t cross. And he was looking at one of them.
Damn it to hell!
Guilt slammed through him, wiping the desire away. What was he doing? She was his employee. She wasn’t his wife. He’d vowed forever, and that there would never be another. It was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames of need.
“That’s better isn’t it?” Donna said once the sheer blinds were closed. “We wouldn’t want the contractors to think you were up to no good with your housekeeper.” She gave him a terrified smile as her visibly shaking hands reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. “Guess I should finish getting undressed then.”
“No!” He held up a hand to stop her as he staggered back several steps.
Her hands dropped to her sides, and she cast a glance at the windows before a look of relief passed over her face. “Sorry. My mistake. I’ll get dressed, and we can finish off the clothed painting—after you’re done with your pastel drawings.” She grabbed for her blouse and hurriedly covered herself with it.
Her behaviour confused him. But there was no time to reason it out. Not with Fiona’s eyes staring at him from the half-finished portrait leaning against the wall. He thrust a hand through his hair before clasping the back of his neck.
“Duncan?” Donna’s voice trembled as her wide eyes stared up at him.
It was all too much. He couldn’t take anymore.
“I’m done here.”
“What about the painting?”
He shook his head. “I’m done. I’ll be in the gym. Don’t disturb me.”
And with that, he tore his eyes from her and stalked from the room. Removing himself from the temptation of his curvy housekeeper.
In other words—he fled.
***
“That went well,” Donna said to the door as it slammed shut behind Duncan.
She flopped back onto the sofa, and couldn’t help but look down at herself, noting the way her stomach creased and her thighs flattened out.
“No wonder he ran.” She clutched her discarded clothes in front of