“Whatever,” I reply, my eyes still locked on my girl across the fire.

Calm down.

Taryn takes off into the house, and I sip my beer as I try not to watch them.

Blake stares across the fire, his eyes not leaving a certain someone.

“You know, you really should stop staring at her,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“Because she’s fucking married.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“You should,” I snap.

“I can’t help it,” he whispers.

“Try harder.”

Blake has a thing for Rebecca. Whenever she’s close, he can’t take his eyes off her.

And it’s not good. She’s married to someone who lives in our street. A colleague of his, no less.

“What happened the other week when you were drinking cocktails on Juliet’s porch when we went out?” I ask.

“She was as tempting as ever.” He rolls his eyes. “Their friend has fucked it for me, though.”

“What friend?”

“Chloe. She’s all over me like a rash, ruining my chances with her.”

“There are no chances with her. Rebecca is married.” I widen my eyes. “Don’t fucking go there.”

He sips his beer, unimpressed. “Where is her dickhead husband anyway? He’s never around.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Typical.” He rolls his eyes. “The one woman I can’t have is the only one I fucking want.”

I sip my beer. “You only want her because you can’t have her.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he huffs. “You just worry about Little Miss Across the Fire. Mason is making his move on your girl as we speak.”

“Hmm.” My eyes rise to watch them. “Not if I throw him in the fire first.”

He chuckles as if imagining it. “How’s things going with her, anyway?”

Great.

“Okay.” I act uninterested.

“She wearing your balls for earrings yet?”

“Does it look like it?”

He smirks. “It does, actually.”

“Fuck off.” I sip my beer. “At least she’s not married to someone else.”

He fakes a smile and then drops his face dead. “You’re fucking hilarious.”

“I think so.”

Mason keeps chatting to the girls, and I’m done watching this shit. I take out my phone and text Juliet.

I’m going.

I watch as she takes her phone out of her pocket and reads my message.

My house, half an hour?

I type my reply.

Make it ten.

Juliet

“Hello?” I call to Henley as I walk into my house.

Silence . . .

He must not be here yet.

“Hello, my little buddy.” I smile to Barry as I scratch his chin. “Did you eat your bone?”

Barry walks back over to his bed and flops down. I’m taking that as a yes.

I make myself a cup of tea and head upstairs. I take my jacket off and dump it on the bed, kick my shoes off, and flick the television on. It’s weird how quickly you get into a new routine. I’ve now gotten used to noise up here. I don’t think I even turned the television on in my bedroom before Henley started coming over to watch our show. Now I seem to turn it on all the time. I sit on the end of the bed and flick through the channels as I sip my tea.

“What will we watch tonight?” I talk to myself as I concentrate on the channels.

I feel him before I see him. I glance up to see Henley leaning on the doorjamb with his shoulder. “Hi.” His eyes drink me in.

My stomach flutters. I know that look. I live for that look. “Hello, Mr. James.”

He’s tall, his presence taking over the small space, or maybe it’s just that his presence has taken over me.

He steps forward and takes my face into his hands. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all fucking night.”

I smile dreamily up at the god. “Have you now?”

“Uh-huh.” His lips take mine with just the right amount of suction, his tongue slowly swirling against mine. “How was your day?” he whispers down at me.

“Better now.” I smile up at him.

Without thinking, he turns, picks up my jacket, and opens the wardrobe and puts it on a hanger. He collects my shoes and puts them neatly into my wardrobe. He straightens the things that I’ve messed up. The first few times he cleaned up after me, I didn’t like it. I took it as a controlling kind of behavior. But now I know that it’s just him and what he needs to do to be able to relax and be in the moment with me.

The more I get to know him, the more his little idiosyncrasies become endearing. They melt me on a deeper level. Remind me just how real and raw my unfiltered man is.

I love that he is reacting to us on autopilot now, doing what is instinctive to him and feels right.

And let’s face it, a man who cleans . . . What’s not to love about that?

He takes me into his arms again. “Shower.” His lips linger against mine as he kisses me, his hands pulling my hips onto his.

“Hen.” I ease back from him. “Wrong time of the month for that, remember?”

He kisses me once more. “I know.” His tongue gently coaxes mine to come out and play.

Oh . . . this man.

Behave.

I step back from him and head into the bathroom to take my makeup off. He follows me in and sits on the bathroom counter to watch me.

It’s the weirdest thing. It’s like he’s fascinated with the mundanities of my day. He watches everything I do with the greatest of interest. I can’t help but wonder if this is the first time he’s ever been like this with a woman. He seems captivated by everything I do. “Tell me about your day,” I say.

“I had meetings all morning, and then I went to lunch with Antony.” He takes my scrunchie from me and begins to pull my hair up into a high bun on top of my head.

“Where did you go for lunch?” I ask as I stay still.

“Bellissimo.” He tightens the bun on my head.

“Oh, Italian.” I smile. “Yum.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.” I put some makeup remover onto a pad and wipe one eye.

“I’ll take you there one day.” He takes the pad from me and does my other eye.

I watch him concentrate on his task. “Are you always like this?” I ask.

“Like what?” He tilts my chin toward him and softly kisses my lips.

“Have you ever taken anyone’s makeup off before?”

A frown flashes across his face as if he’s surprised by the question. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” I put my hands onto his hips as he sits in front of me. “That wasn’t what I asked.”

He stays silent as he wipes all my makeup off. “No. It’s not something . . .” His voice trails off.

Progress.

“I like the way you look after me,” I whisper.

And he does. The care that he looks after my body with is like nothing I’ve ever felt. He doesn’t say how he feels . . . but he doesn’t have to.

I can feel it in his touch.

He smirks down at me. “If I’m too extra . . .”

“You’ve got it just right.” I lean up and kiss him.