The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

how much fun this situation could be if she hadn’t messed it up by marrying the best sex she’d ever had?

Crossing the driveway, she hesitated with each step, hating that she was already breaking their pact to keep their distance, but this was business, not pleasure… sadly. Raising her hand to the door, she went for it.

The door eased open, and Zane wordlessly leaned against the door. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile that made her want to strip down on the spot and wrap her body around his. Were those biceps so… edible last time she’d seen him? She stood and blushed, her train of thought having set sail the moment those forest green eyes landed on her.

Finally, he said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said, practically swaying her hips and blushing like a virgin bride at the sight of him. Catching herself, she cleared her throat and focused. “Hi. I was wondering if you had a laptop I could borrow.”

“Sorry, no laptop. I’ve got a desktop that you’re free to come over and use whenever you want.”

“You wouldn’t mind? I have a lot of work to do, and I need to get my own computer, but I want to wait until I get paid again.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, you’ll have to deal with me puttering around while you work, but have at it.”

When did the word puttering become sexy? When Zane said it, maybe it was that deep resonance in his voice, but it sounded like an inuendo. Or maybe that was because her imagination spent all day, every day reliving their weekend. The good parts, anyway.

Waving her in, he sat down at the desk he’d set up in the corner since she’d been here last. He’d really fixed the place up nicely. A few new throw pillows were on the couch that now faced the picture window and a TV. A leather ottoman with a tray on it took the place of a traditional coffee table. The kitchen was tidy without being sparse. Stainless steel containers of differing sizes were nestled in the corner, and matching white ceramic olive oil and vinegar, together with a few jars of spices, were nestled on a tray next to the stove.

While she unsubtly perused the apartment, he booted up the computer. The corner desk could have looked intrusive in the clean space, but the rustic walnut wood with steel pipes holding it together gave it an industrial look. Rather than a typical ergonomic desk chair on wheels, he used one of the dining chairs with a tan cushion.

At the unlock screen, he turned to her. “You said you get paid quarterly, right? Like you might need to use this for a few months?”

She nodded, feeling insecure as she confessed her finances were tighter than she cared to admit.

“Don’t get me wrong, you can come over whenever you’d like. If it were only for a day or two, I’d sign you on to my profile. Since you may need full access, I’ll set up your own so you don’t have to wade through all my stuff.”

“I didn’t know you knew anything about computers.”

“Not by choice. In college, a lot of the designs were digital, then getting back from a mission, when my brain and body were toast, gaming was a nice way to unwind. More recently, I’ve started keeping track of recipes, ideas for new brews.”

With a few quick keystrokes, he had her all set and hopped out of the seat. She brushed past, a little closer than necessary, but she was undoubtedly the moth to his flame. Fisting her hand at the last second, she resisted grazing her hand over his.

She hated computers, but had known this was coming. Although she'd counted the tiresome hours of her digital design course until she could pick up a brush again in art school, she was glad she'd wouldn't have to learn quite so much on the fly.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded.

He headed to the kitchen and started pulling out some odd-looking contraptions, a few more canisters from the shelf in the dining room, plus a huge stockpot. Organizing his gear, his brow furrowed as he focused on each step, jotting down a few notes as he worked, he looked like quite the chemist. Smiling softly, she turned back to her own work.

Where did she even start? Well, she needed a home base. She’d already done most of the research, now it was a matter of making it happen. Pulling out her credit card, she bit the bullet and bought a memorable domain name. Then a fancy email. A newsletter service. Ugh. This added up quickly.

She hadn’t even started to build her portfolio when the shadows stretched long across the apartment. Her brain throbbed as she imagined her next steps, and the utter insanity of attempting to set up a retail page, wondering if it were possible to link to some of the major galleries and online sellers. Checking the time, she realized she’d completely missed lunch and dinner was about to be a lost cause. As her belly grumbled at her, she caught the scent of garlic sautéing.

Turning around in the chair, she saw Zane had long since packed up his beer making supplies, a few dozen bottles capped and tucked into the corner. On the stove, he was stirring something yummy. His hair was long past the tight military fade he’d had when they first met and was now downright scruffy. Nor had he shaved since Tahoe. His cargo shorts rode low on his hips, his white t-shirt teasing at giving her a glimpse of skin.

Shoes already on the floor under the desk, as she’d slipped them off long ago, she walked barefoot into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist while he tended to the stove. Unsurprised, or at least, not breaking