Chapter 57

Cursing his internal alarm clock, Nakos padded down the hallway before the buttcrack of dawn, his sole focus to get coffee. Lots of coffee. Until his blood type was Folgers. Once a caffeine blast hit his system, he could better determine the cause for the tension in his neck and why the hell he woke in a zombie state. Not that he normally popped out of bed raring to go, but Hihcebe, he felt like he was crashing from a week-long bourbon bender.

Rubbing his eyes, he rounded the landing, descended the stairs, and headed for the kitchen. And stopped short. Blinked. Scratched his chest.

Amy, facing away from him, poured coffee from a carafe into a mug at the counter. Long cocoa strands trailed halfway down her back, and she wore a pair of frayed skinny jeans that molded to her round, luscious ass. Blue polish peeked from her toes as she curled them on the checkered linoleum. As she reached for the sugar dish, her hips wiggled like she was grooving to an internal beat, and...

He grew semi-hard in less time than it took her to dump two spoonfuls into her cup.

Morning wood. Had to be. Because the sight of Ames had never blasted this kind of reaction in him. At least, not to this extent. Then again, he'd never woken to her in his kitchen, either. Domestic. Intimate.

Heat furled in his chest, part warmth from appreciating the view and part boil over from...loving the idea she was here. In his space. Her light perfume filled the kitchen like the scent had moved in, too. Semi-hard became all-systems-go, but in his confusion, he just stared. Processing. For a guy who was used to privacy and space, the response seemed crazy.

He skimmed his gaze over her curvy, lithe frame to test his first reaction a second time. Yep. His pulse kicked rhythm and some barbaric instinct to claim her rose.

A rip-roaring case of WTF shoved through his foggy state. Barely.

She glanced over her shoulder and, just like that, he was... Stone. Cold. Sober.

The wedding. The look of her in that dress. Dancing with her. Their fight. Insane things she'd said. His unending concern. Bringing her home. Finding her in the guestroom later. Their talk. His unfettered admissions. Her warm supple curves against him when they'd hugged.

Across the small distance, her mermaid eyes met his. Bluish-green and framed by dark lashes. The few feet between them shrank to inches without either of them moving. Short of air, he parted his lips, which only made him think to dip his gaze to her pouty red mouth.

And that was of no help to his aroused state. She didn't just take his breath away. She stole it. Violently.

Damnation. What the hell was happening to him?

Then her gaze trailed over him. Chest, abs. Lower. A smile curved her lips in amusement.

He glanced down at himself. Black boxer-briefs. Nothing else. Because he normally didn't have guests and was used to walking around however he pleased. Nearly naked, in this case.

Cursing a wicked streak, he pivoted on his heels and strode back the way he'd come. Her musical laugher faded as he hit the stairs at a jog. He stormed into his bedroom and kicked the door shut, pressing his forehead to the panel.

He swore, it was as if someone else had taken over his body the past few months, rendering him a puppet at the whim of a madman wielding the strings. Nothing made sense or properly clicked.

Not used to having someone else in the house was no excuse for forgetting to get dressed. He pushed off the door and grabbed pants from a chair, then got more pissed off as he shoved his legs into jeans because Amy wasn't an easily forgettable woman. And what had he done? He'd flashed her the morning after her first night in the cabin. With an erection. Her amused smile sprang to mind, and he groaned.

Hands on his hips, breaths rasping, he stared down at his crotch. Still. Hard. "Knock it off. Right now."

Retrieving a t-shirt from a dresser drawer, he pulled it over his head and was eternally grateful his littler head behind his zipper had listened. Taking a moment, he scrubbed his hands over his face, then made his way back downstairs.

Amy sat at the scarred two-seater table with a mug in her hands. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, bare feet at the edge of the chair. Out the window behind her, the sun was rising in pink and orange hues. In front of the opposite place was another steaming cup.

"It's black, just how you like it."

He claimed the other chair with a grunt of thanks. After downing half the coffee, he sighed. "I'm sorry. About, you know. My state of undress."

A quiet chuckle, and she smiled over the rim at him. "You're not exactly an eyesore, Nakos, and it's your house. Walk around all day in your skivvies for all I care."

Okay. That was twice now she'd made a reference to his body. She'd done it last night at the wedding when they'd danced, too. Once he could pass off as Amy-ness. Twice was the beginning of a pattern. Not that he was upset by the comments. He just didn't know if he should take them with a grain of salt or a silo. Though he knew her better than the back of his own hand, he never could tell when she was goading him.

And damn, but the...appreciation was back in her eyes. She'd pulled the rug out from under him last night and he was still recovering. Twenty-one years, and she'd never looked at him. Not like she was now. He sure as hell would've noticed.

Or perhaps he needed more caffeine.

He ran his thumb up and down the handle on his mug. "Are you flirting with me?" Because the four horsemen had just been released, if that were the case.

Her grin widened. Sucker. Punch. "You'd know. Trust me."

Nope. No, he wouldn't. "How so?"

"There's a difference between a statement of fact, flirting, and a come-on." When he just stared, she set her cup aside. "I'll demonstrate. Fact. Nakos, you have a great body." She said the phrase like explaining the sky was blue. "Flirting." She walked her fingers up his forearm and raised her voice an octave. Her smile amped a notch, as well. "Nakos, you have - " slow perusal of him " - a great body." Then - sweet Hihcebe - she leaned forward over his chair. "This is a come-on." Her full breasts pressed against his chest, her hair teased his jaw, and her warm breath fanned the shell of his ear. "Nakos, you have a great body," she murmured in a clear I-want-you-horizontal-and-naked voice.

While oxygen vacated his lungs and every nerve under his skin misfired, she sat back and held up her palm. She lifted her brows as if to say, understand?

He'd never loved his kitchen table so much. He was hard. Again.

Twelve hours, and he was already losing his mind having her under his roof. At this rate, he wasn't going to make it twelve more minutes. Because fuck. He was attracted to Amy. Of all people. Amy don't-you-dare-go-there Woods.

An apocalypse wasn't merely coming. Oh no, no. It had arrived. He should just put his own balls in a vise. It would save time.

"Do you want more coffee?"

He shook his head. Didn't help clear the holy-shit, though. "What?"

"Coffee. Do you want more?"

Only if it was laced with a psychotropic medication. "I'm good, thanks."

She tilted her head. "It's really bothering you, isn't it?" He thought she'd read his filthy, filthy mind until she elaborated. "Your peep show, I mean. Seriously, it's not as if I'm a virgin. If it makes you feel better, I'll come downstairs tomorrow in just my panties. We'll call it even."

He choked. On his tongue.

A vision of her in some lacey bra and panty set the same color of her irises filtered to mind. He closed his eyes. Fast. He may have groaned for good measure.

"Well, jeez. No need to lose your stomach contents. I was only kidding."

Her chair scraped the floor, and he opened his eyes.

Had that been...hurt in her tone? Surely not. Except her posture was deflated as she rinsed dishes, her back to him. He wanted a good look at her face for clarification he hadn't insulted her, but he couldn't trust himself to move.

Wait. Why was she doing dishes? "Quit that."

She put another plate in the dishwasher. "What?"

"That's my mess. Leave it." He ate so often up at the main house that, typically, it took him a week to accumulate enough to start a load.

Of course, she ignored him. "I'm almost done."

"You're not my maid." He was about to rise and force her to stop when she closed the dishwasher door and pushed Start.

"I'm going to find my shoes. Make a grocery list." She jerked her chin at a pad of paper and pen by an empty fruit bowl next to his elbow.

"Why?"

Her expression dialed straight to duh. "So I can go shopping."

Right. He was low on items and she'd need her own food. "I'll go with you."

"No. When was the last time you had a day off?"

"It's Saturday. I'm working."

She gave him a withering glance. "Everyone is on a mini vacation with Olivia gone."

Not him. "The barns need to be done, regardless." He strummed his fingers on the table, growing defensive. "I have every Sunday off, just like all the guys."

"Yet you're going over to the barns to feed horses and muck stalls anyway."

"So? I'm the foreman." His job was never done. Olivia and Nate were on their honeymoon. He wasn't leaving chores for Mae to do. Besides, it wouldn't take him long and he'd have the rest of the day to lose his mind.

"Relax for once. Make a list. I'll head to the store. You will not argue." And with that, she left the room.