Hot Westmoreland Nights - Brenda Jackson [15]
“I know I said I’d come back in the morning, but I figured not to take any chances getting here late. Besides, I need to get things set up, if the men eat at five. I’ll need to be in the kitchen at least by four. So…here I am.”
Yes, here she was, and although he wished otherwise, ideas continued to pop up in his head, literally pound his brain, regarding all the things he’d like to do to her. Even now he wished like hell he could ignore the ache that was stirring in the lower part of his body, as well as the heavy thudding doing havoc to his chest. But he couldn’t.
She stared at him and he stared back at her as his insides began filling with lust of the thickest kind. He should have followed his mind earlier and contacted the employment agency to see if they could send in a replacement by morning, but he had failed to do so mainly because deep down he really hadn’t wanted to. He grudgingly admitted that he had been looking forward to seeing her in the morning. But she was here now and he wasn’t quite sure just how to handle her unexpected arrival.
He watched as she raised her brows. “So are you going to let me in or do I get to stand out here all night?”
At that moment he couldn’t help but quirk his lips in a smile. She was almost as bad as Bailey with her sassy mouth. A mouth that at that moment snagged his gaze. Breath slammed through his lungs when she took that time to moisten her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.
He fought the heat flaring in his midsection. “Yes, I’m going to let you in,” he said, reaching out and taking the luggage out of her hand and stepping back and moving aside.
“I appreciate it,” she responded, stepping over the threshold.
When she walked past him every cell in Ramsey’s body began throbbing as he took in her scent. Whatever perfume she was wearing was lethal and could wrap a man up in all kinds of sensuous thoughts.
She glanced over at him. “So where’s my room?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Upstairs. Please follow me.” A part of him wished he was leading her to his bedroom instead of the guest room. Damn, he needed another beer.
They walked up the stairs and when they reached the landing they walked down the hall. “Nice place.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve seen it before.”
She arched her brow. “No, I haven’t. Earlier today when you left your door wide open, I had no reason to snoop around up here. My job was in the kitchen area and no other part of your house.”
He wondered if she could be believed, and when he glanced over his shoulder again he couldn’t help but note how she was checking out several of the bedrooms they passed. Maybe she hadn’t come snooping after all. He had five guest rooms all with their own private baths. At twenty-three, Gemma was the interior designer in the family. She had been more than happy to spend his money to lavishly decorate each of his bedrooms. And she was dying to get started on the rooms downstairs once he gave her the go-ahead. That wouldn’t be for a while. He was still recovering from having her underfoot when she’d done the upstairs.
“Sorry, my mistake,” he apologized by saying.
When they reached the bedroom that she would be using, he stood back to let her enter. He could tell from her expression that he had made a wise choice. She liked it, which meant she was a frilly, lacy and soft colors kind of girl. While she was standing in the middle of the room, scanning the room in awe, he placed her luggage on the bed.
His first inclination was to bid her good-night and leave her standing right there, but something about the expression on her face stopped him. She actually seemed absorbed. He somehow understood. Gemma’s interior design work could do that to you. He would be one of the first to admit that his sister was good. The money used to send her to college had been well spent.
He doubted there was ever a time Gemma hadn’t wanted to be an interior designer. He could vividly recall how she had made curtains for his first car—a bright red Chevy—when she was eight. To not hurt her feelings