He ran an impatient comb through his hair, threw on khaki slacks, a white cotton button down shirt, and forced himself to walk calmly rather than bolt back downstairs to check if she was still there. Would she stay the night or leave while he was freshening up? The uncertainty was a novel and somewhat unpleasant experience for him. Not too innocent, though, if the fire that leapt into her eyes at his approach was any indication. She looked innocent and wholesome, exactly the kind of woman he normally avoided. Nothing about her should have floored him, but when she'd pinned him down with those dark amber eyes, he'd almost stopped breathing. Her light complexion, devoid of makeup, was sprinkled with freckles and those simple brown curls, which had escaped her attempt to bind them back, added to the guilelessness of her image. She was lushly rounded in the places women were meant to be rounded. He could attribute some of his uncouthness to fatigue, but he suspected that it had more to do with the way she filled out her jeans. She wasn't the magazine cover type he groaned as he remembered that he'd told her as much. His blood surged each time he wondered what his housekeeper was doing.and that was about every ten seconds or so. As he toweled dry, he fought off teenage-like excitement. The hot shower he'd taken in a bathroom that could easily have fit into one of the closets at any number of his other homes, had been invigorating and brief.
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