Chapter 10 #3
By the time he got to the house, where Carolina’s Jeep was parked in the driveway, Seamus was more nervous than a schoolboy before his first date. “Keep a handle on yourself, my man,” Seamus said as he got out of the company truck and headed into the house.
The wind whipping through the trees made an eerie sound, and the rain was coming down in earnest now.
He stepped into the mudroom, kicked off his boots and hung up his coat to dry.
Grasping the bags of groceries, he stepped into the kitchen and got right to work on the stew.
He popped open a beer and took several swallows, hoping to calm his nerves.
His hands were so shaky he nearly lobbed off a fingertip while slicing a carrot.
“Frickin’ insanity, I tell you,” he muttered. “Just cook the food and stop acting like a dunderheaded nitwit.”
“Do you always talk to yourself in the kitchen?” Carolina asked.
Seamus looked up quickly and found her leaning against the doorframe, holding a glass of wine.
Her hair had been released from the braid and framed her face like wispy angel hair.
A searing pain in his finger forced his gaze back to the cutting board, which was now covered in blood. Frickin’ fabulous!
“Shit,” he said as he headed for the sink to run the cut under cold water, praying it wasn’t deep enough to require a hospital visit. He didn’t want to waste any of his precious time with the lovely Carolina getting stitches.
“Let me see,” she said, appearing at his side. With the bump of her hip against his, she shifted him to the side in a move that turned him on so completely he nearly swallowed his tongue.
She took hold of his hand and gave the cut a thorough examination.
The feel of her soft skin against his had him mesmerized, wishing the interlude would never end.
Sadly, she quickly completed her exam and held his finger under the cold water for another minute before releasing his hand. “I’m sure Joe has a first aid kit somewhere.”
Seamus cleared his throat and batted his way through the cobwebs that had formed in his brain. While only a minute had passed, he felt as if he’d been under her spell for far longer than that. “Under the bathroom sink,” he said.
“Be right back.”
He watched her walk away because the sight of her fine rear in those faded jeans was a thing of beauty.
The instant she was out of sight, Seamus released an unsteady breath and took a long look around the kitchen, as if he’d never before seen the modern appliances, intricate tile work and butcher-block countertop.
His entire world had been turned upside down in the scope of a minute, the first time Carolina Cantrell officially touched him.
She returned with the first aid kit and directed him, with a hand to his arm, to take a seat on one of the barstools. The heat of her hand branded the skin of his arm, leaving him forever marked by the sensation of her touch.
All at once, it became vitally important to Seamus that she not touch him again. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can put a bandage on it.”
“Oh, please, let me. It’s my fault it happened in the first place. I startled you.”
Taking his silence as consent, she took hold of his hand and dabbed at the cut on the pad of his index finger with antibiotic ointment that stung like a bastard.
He sucked in a sharp deep breath.
“Sorry,” she said with a wince. “I know it hurts.”
If she kissed it better, he would die on the spot. Of that much he was certain.
Her scent surrounded him, a bewitching combination of earthy spiciness and sexy woman.
Seamus wanted to lean in closer for a better whiff.
When her hair brushed against his face as she bent over her task, he had to bite back a groan.
It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to reach for a handful of silky blonde hair and bring it to his nose.
The second she had the bandage in place, he jumped up from the barstool and managed to crack his head against hers.
“Oh, God,” he said, stumbling through the words as he backpedaled away from her. “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”
Sending him a wry grin, she rubbed the tender spot on her forehead where his big noggin had connected with hers.
“I’ll survive.” She studied him intently with eyes that seemed to see all the way through him.
He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case, for he’d be truly mortified if she were to have any inkling of his thoughts about her.
“You seem rather jumpy,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Heat infused his face in a blush so fierce he was reminded of his horrible teenage years when the sound of a girl’s voice—any girl’s voice—could make him blush and go hard, all in a fraction of an instant.
That hadn’t happened again since then, until the first time he met his boss’s lovely mother—and every time since then.
He got busy again with the knife, watching his digits more closely this time. “I’m fine. I just need a few more minutes to get the soup on and the bread in the oven.”
“I’ll start a fire,” she said, wandering into the family room.
“Frickin’ fabulous,” he muttered again as he imagined how she’d look in firelight.