Page 20 of Tear Me to Pieces
Again, I’m ready to counter. “Not as much as you’d think.” I move to the spot tucked off the entryway that would be a perfect location for a half bath. “The water heater is right under here and the distance to a sewer line is minimal. The hardest part will be cleaning the tiles.” I give her a grin. “And that can be your job.”
She wants to help. I want to teach her. But Myra already puts in long hours at her job managing the day spa one of Christian’s clients owns. I’ve got no problem showing her how to do everything, but I’ll be assigning her the least physical jobs. And while cleaning off the tiles is tedious, it’s not labor intensive.
Myra narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll think about it.”
It’s not a yes, but I feel one coming. Maybe not tonight, but soon. “Good.” Resting one hand on her lower back, I direct her toward the chairs currently serving as our dining area. I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but that’s never been my style. “Now, sit down so I can also convince you to let me work on the entryway.”
7
MYRA
Swipingat the bit of hair that’s fallen out of the messy bun I quickly crafted before rushing downstairs this morning, I carefully fold the omelet lining the non-stick pan in front of me. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked, so I’m a little out of practice, but I think I’ve still managed to whip up a decent breakfast.
When I opened my fridge last night after Simon left—planning to get a bottle of water to take up to bed—I discovered the stacks of wood and wire weren’t the only things he’d brought into my house while I was at work. The once bare shelves were now filled with all sorts of grocery items. Vegetables, lunch meat, eggs, and cheese, packed the mostly unused appliance to the gills.
I stared at everything for a few seconds, shocked and not quite sure how I felt about it. I wanted to think Simon had crossed a line. Taken control I didn’t give him.
But warmth bloomed through my insides, seeping into all the frozen corners that iced over the day I discovered my life wasn’t my own.
No one has ever taken care of me before. Not my parents when I was little—everything was always about my father—and certainly not my husband when I was an adult. I recognize that’s probably not Simon’s primary motive here. He’s going to be spending a lot of time in my house, so he probably wants access to food. But still.
He did this all on his own. He saw a need and went out and took care of it. And he didn’t even mention it. Didn’t want me to tell him how good of a boy he was. Didn’t need to hear how impressive it was he knew how to buy food at a food store.
That’s why, this morning, I’m doing something nice for him back.
I told myself I would never take care of another man. Never bring him his food. Never lay out his clothes. Never lay back and count the passing seconds as he quenched his husbandly thirst.
But this doesn’t feel anything like that. Simon isn’t my husband, and the caretaking isn’t one-sided.
That must be why I’m feeling a little excited as I finish plating up the food and head out my front door, hoping Simon can make at least halfway decent coffee in that ridiculous camper of his.
As I approach the door to his fifth wheel, I start to realize knocking on it isn’t going to be simple with my hands full, and I start trying to shift everything around in my hands. But before I can free up a set of knuckles for knocking, the door swings open, and I nearly swallow my tongue.
Simon stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, sinful lips pulled into a smile. Shirtless.
I knew he was attractive. Could tell he was well-built by the way a T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. I still couldn’t have come up with this. Not even in my wildest dreams.
And lately, my dreams have been pretty wild.
“Good morning.” His voice is deep and low and it snakes down my spine, warming me up just as much as the sight of my filled fridge did last night.
Only this warmth keeps drifting lower. It’s my own fault. Two mornings in a row now, my morning masturbation sessions have featured him. Front and center.
My body has apparently started associating him with getting off, which is going to be a problem. Because the throb in my clit as I take him in is more than a little distracting.
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. “I brought breakfast.”
Simon’s lips slowly curve. “I see that.”
“Well, someone went to all the trouble of filling my refrigerator, so I figured throwing a little of what I found together in a pan was the least I could do.” I shift on my feet, feeling oddly vulnerable. This is a strange moment for me. One I have no precedent to compare to.
Actually, pretty much every interaction I have with Simon is unprecedented. He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever known. That’s probably why I feel so drawn to him. He’s the opposite of the men in my past, and that’s really flipping appealing.
“It looks amazing.” Simon steps back, stretching one arm out, palms spread wide as he braces the door open so I can enter. Since the camper door opens out, he’s positioned on the stairs leading in. It’s not a big opening, so my body brushes against hisas I pass, making every nerve ending that receives contact light up along with my rogue lady parts.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. What nearly thirty-year-old woman reacts to nothing more than a bit of casual contact?
One who’s never had a man touch her with the intention of bringing her any sort of pleasure, that’s who.
