“So don’t treat me like a guest. Just give me a bed and ignore me.”
Julie crossed her arms. “It’s not a good idea.”
No use denying that he knew what she meant. Not when his eyes had homed in on the top button of her shirt as soon as her innocently crossed arms plumped up her breasts and yanked his attention downward.
Creamy skin and a hint of lace. God help him, he wanted to ask her if she was seeing anybody. It used to be the first thing he asked when he came to town. Sometimes she was, and he cut his visits short because he couldn’t stand seething over Julie’s sex life any more than he could stand spending more than a couple days at a time in Potter Falls.
Other times she wasn’t, and they got caught up together at the wrong moments for the wrong reasons. In back rooms, broom closets, hallways. One memorable occasion behind the woodpile.
Always stupid and impulsive, and always he regretted it, because afterward he had to watch her pull herself together and put that distant, untouchable look back on her face, like a blanket she drew over her shoulders.
He’d stopped allowing himself “accidents” with Julie years ago, when his mother had not-so-delicately implied that he was stringing her along, and she needed to get on with her life.
She’d gotten engaged a year or so later, but the wedding never happened. His mom would say only that it hadn’t worked out.
“I’ll keep out of your hair,” Carson said, putting all his control into keeping his voice low and persuasive. It was the tone he relied on to talk Foreign Service contractors into working overtime for regular pay. It worked on everybody.
“You won’t have to wash my towels or sheets or cook me breakfast,” he added. “Hell, you can put me to work. I’ll strip the ceiling for you.” If his father wasn’t going to let him clear out the upstairs room, Carson needed to rustle up another form of distraction anyway.
Her frown deepened.
“Julia,” he said, because she hated being called that, and he wanted to put a crack in her frozen expression.
Her eyes flared to life. His cock pulsed and grew heavy. Just like that.
But she didn’t respond except to say, “Carson.”
He gave up and pushed the one button he knew would work. “You know what’s going on with my dad. I need to stay here. I need your help.”
She turned her back on him and looked out the window over the sink. Her shoulders dropped. “You can have a spare room in the attic.”
“Wonderful.”
“It’s nothing fancy. I’m not giving you one of the good rooms because I have to get them all aired out and decorated. You’ll just be in my way.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. The room comes with breakfast, and I’m charging you 120 a night.”
“Fine.”
“And you have to be out by December 21. I’m booked for the holidays, and I don’t want you hanging around being all …”
“Charming?”
The frown again. He hated that frown.
“Sexy?”
It turned into a scowl.
“Irresistible?”
“Annoying.” She considered him for a moment, head cocked. “You don’t even plan to stay that long, do you?”
“No.”
He wasn’t going to intend about it one way or the other. He’d take the three weeks she gave him, work on her ceiling, visit his dad every day, and play the cards he got dealt.