Shacking Up

“Oh.” I drop my hands and cover my crotch, as if that’s going to help. “Uh. I’ll be right back.”

Bancroft’s eyebrows climb a little, and a half smile appears as I turn and rush down the hall, with my hands shielding my ass.

“Don’t feel compelled to put more clothes on for my benefit,” he calls after me.

I grab my kimono from the back of the bathroom door—one of the very few items I unpacked last night before I passed out—and shrug it on. On the plus side, my cheeks now match the color of the flowers decorating my robe, so at least I’m coordinated. I return to the kitchen where Bancroft is now sipping a cup of coffee. He regards me over the rim of his cup, his amusement apparent in the arch of his brow.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been living alone for a long time.”

“No need to apologize. Your wardrobe choices are your own. I’m certainly not going to complain.” He’s wearing a devilish smirk as he gives me another lingering once-over.

I prop a hip against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not polite to ogle?”

His gaze lifts to mine and he leans in close, voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “I’m not always polite.”

Oh God. I’d like to experience his not polite all over this condo. Right here on the kitchen island would be a good place to start. I go with snark rather than offering to be his breakfast. “You’re going to drop below a nine again if you keep it up.”

That sexy smile of his widens. “I guess it’s good that I’m leaving. I’d hate to bring myself down to a lowly eight-point-five again.”

I’m first to break the stare down. “What’s this?” I motion to the scribbled notes on the counter. There are also a couple of envelopes. The one on top has my name on it, but the notes are first to grab my attention. “Isn’t the hundred-page care manual enough?”

He blushes a little. “It’s just a few things I forgot to tell you. And we didn’t discuss payment.”

“Payment? For what?”

“For taking care of Francesca and Tiny.”

“You’re giving me a place to live and free groceries.”

“You’ll have other expenses. You need a stipend. Will two a week be enough? I’ve left a little cash to start.” He taps the envelope. “I’ll get bank details from you later.”

“Sure, that sounds reasonable.” Two hundred a week on top of having a place to live and food already taken care of will definitely make things manageable while I look for a job.

I pick up the pages, the writing is nearly illegible. “I’m supposed to be able to read this? What is it, hieroglyphics?”

“My writing isn’t that bad.”

“Is that what your mom told you when you were in grade school?”

“I’ll just email you later.” He tries to grab the notes from me but I hide them behind my back. It pushes my chest out, drawing his attention there.

“It’s fine. I’ll just do some Internet research later on runes. It’ll be like one of those hidden-message puzzles.”

He opens his mouth, likely to shoot back another barb at me, but his phone rings. He pats his pockets and locates the device. “I have to get this.” He answers the call. “Bancroft Mills speaking.” A short pause follows. “I’ll be right down.” Once he ends the call he pockets his phone again. “It’s my car for the airport.” He gives me another lingering stare, and it could be in my head, but he looks like he’s not all that excited about leaving at the moment.

“Have a safe trip. I promise I’ll take great care of Francesca and Tiny while you’re gone.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ll send a message when I land. And I’ll check in later in the week.”

“Okay.” We stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other, neither one of us making any kind of move. I’m half a second away from making a colossally bad decision by grabbing him by the lapels of his suit jacket and dragging those luscious lips of his down to mine when he looks away and clears his throat. It’s enough to break me out of my fantasizing.

“Okay. I have to go.” He’s said that already. He brings a hand up to his hair, but drops it. Pats his pockets, then crosses to his bags.

“I’ll get the door for you.” I rush ahead of him, flip the lock, and hold it open.

He pauses at the threshold. He looks like he wants to say something.

“I promise they’ll be fine with me. We can always video chat if you miss them.”

“Yeah. Okay. That might be good.”

I’m a hugger. I’ve always been a hugger. Usually in my world you’re allowed to do the air-kiss, back-pat, so it’s on impulse, and maybe a small hormonal component, that I lean in toward him. I realize too late that my reflexive action isn’t the best idea. And that I’ve shocked him.

“Oh. Okay,” he mumbles as my face hits his chest and my arm comes around his waist. I’m about to release him when he returns the embrace, his thick arms wrapping around me. God, he’s solid. And he smells incredible. Like warm laundry with a hint of cologne. His arms tighten and his head drops, his freshly shaved cheek brushes against my temple.

The press of his palm against my low back has me tilting my pelvis just the tiniest little bit. I both hear and feel his heavy exhalation against my cheek, and then his other hand is smoothing up my back, between my shoulder blades, under my hair. It makes me want to follow through on the lapel-grabbing and lip-locking.

I stop breathing when his fingertips brush over the back of my neck and his lips touch my ear. I suck in a gasping breath when the hand pressed against the dip in my spine eases just a bit lower. “I was managing just fine before the fucking lace panties,” he murmurs.

The sound of another door opening and the yippy bark of a dog has us awkwardly shoving away from each other.

“Bancroft!” The heavy accent belongs to a woman wearing more makeup than a circus clown. I have no idea how old she is, or whether she’s related to humans or aliens based on the amount of cosmetic surgery she’s likely had to achieve the false youthful look she’s sporting. A tiny dog jumps around her feet, yipping and nipping. It tries to make a run for Bancroft’s door, but Clown Woman yanks on the leash. “No, Precious! Sit!”

Precious doesn’t sit, in fact, Precious growls and snaps at Bancroft. The woman snatches Precious up into her arms, chastising and then cooing.

“Hello, Ms. Blackwood. Hello, Precious. You’re up early today.” Bancroft’s smile is as tight as Clown Woman’s skin as he takes a small, but obvious step away from me, creating more distance. He also shoves his hands in his pockets, possibly doing some rearranging. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling too wide.

“I’m off for a week at the spa.” The Spa must be a highbrow code for a visit to the plastic surgeon, or rehab. I’m guessing it’s the former rather than the latter. Ms. Blackwood’s gaze travels over Bancroft—her ogling is quite obvious—and then slides to me. “Who is this you’re hiding?”

Bancroft’s cheek tics, as if he’s trying to keep his smile from dropping. He looks just as annoyed as I feel. “This is Ruby Scott. She’ll be taking care of my place while I’m away on business.”