Ember In The Heart - Page 9

I looked up and saw the light on in the master bedroom that overlooked the backyard. My whole life we’d lived next door to the Cowies. They were around twenty years older than my parents, their kids were off to college by the time Mom and Dad started popping us out. Deciding to move to a smaller house in Florida, they’d put the house up for sale much to our sadness. It was weird not having them next door.

Even weirder Darwin had moved in.

“I wondered if your offer was still good?”

Remembering my impulsive offer to look after Georgie, part of me wanted to say no. But then, just as I had that morning, I saw Georgie sitting on patio furniture, watching her dad with big, melancholy eyes. And I remembered that her mom had abandoned her. I’d forgotten about Foster’s repellent personality and just seen a father who needed help with his little girl. Until he’d opened his mouth again. His disdain for me couldn’t be clearer so it was more than a shock that he’d come over to take me up on my proposal.

Swimming to the ladders I pulled myself out of the water. I hadn’t thought anything about my state of undress until I walked toward Foster. He slowly stood from his haunches his eyes traveling up my body.

And I swear to God, I felt his perusal like strong fingers caressing my skin.

I saw his Adam’s apple move with a hard swallow as his gaze lingered on my breasts.

Surprise caused me to halt a few feet from him.

His attention moved to my face and although he was quick to bank it, there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes.

Holy shit.

Foster was attracted to me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and then realized the action pushed my boobs out and drew even more attention to them so I dropped my arms, feeling awkward.

And very, very almost naked in my blue bikini.

“Well?” he snapped.

I raised an eyebrow at his tone and bristled.

Was he mad that he was attracted to me?

Why? Because I was a thirty-six-year old massage therapist and being sexually interested in me was mortifying to him?

Man child.

I bet he didn’t even know what to do with a woman.

Most men his age didn’t.

Screw him.

If he was uncomfortable because he found me attractive that was his problem. I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked a hip. “You’re asking me a favor … don’t you think you should at least pretend to be polite?”

Foster narrowed his beautiful eyes. “You do make it difficult.”

“I didn’t even say a word,” I argued.

“It’s your attitude.” He took a step toward me. “I need help with my kid and you’re deliberately …” he gestured vaguely to me.

“I’m what?” I moved into him. “Breathing?”

“I don’t even know why I bothered.” His angry eyes dipped to my mouth and back up again. “You’re clearly not the best person to watch Georgie anyway.”

That little pretentious prick. My arms dropped to my sides as I stiffened. “Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the second time you’ve questioned my ability to be a responsible adult around a five-year-old. I want to know why, with so little effort to get to know me, you think you do. Know me, that is.”

He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

A hunch?

“Well, you’re best friends with Colt so I’m sure he could vouch for me. And probably already has. So why have you made this snap judgment about my capabilities? Is it perhaps because you’re a country club snob who thinks anyone without a college degree, or any woman who hasn’t been married by the time she’s thirty, is deficient in some way?”

“Now who’s jumping to conclusions.”

“Jumping to conclusions? You more than insinuated that a woman who looked like me who was still single at my age—ouch, by the way—must have something wrong with her. Then you’ve twice implied that I am incapable of looking after a child. Why, when you know so little about me, would you draw that conclusion? Of course I’d assume it was out of pure elitism and sexism.”

“So I’m an elitist and sexist now?” he stepped into me, our chests brushing and I gasped at the sparks of excitement that electrified my skin and set my pulse racing. Foster tensed, his gaze dropping to my mouth again.

Attraction crackled between us, hot and charged.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides as Foster’s head dipped toward mine, his breath whispering across my lips. I could feel my mouth plumping at just the mere thought of his kiss.

Suddenly he stumbled back, eyes wide as if he was shocked by his own behavior.

I sucked in a breath.

We stared at each other, confused.

Not just confused. My body was strung taut, completely unsatisfied with his sudden distance.

“This was a bad idea,” he said, his voice hoarse, before he turned to leave.

Tags: Samantha Young Romance
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