Chapter 10 #2
For five years, I'd lived practically like a nun, pouring all my energy into raising Sofia, with no time or interest in men.
But now... watching him so focused, sweat forming on his forehead, his nimble fingers handling the tools... a long-forgotten heat stirred in my lower belly.
Damn it.
I forced myself to look away and went to the kitchen for a mop to clean up the water. But my body was reacting—heart racing, breaths coming short, and that embarrassing flush of... desire.
About half an hour later, he was done.
"All fixed," he said, standing up. His shirt was damp in spots from the splashes, clinging to his chest and abs, highlighting every contour—I could make out the ridges of his abs, the curve of his pecs, even the tone of his skin through the wet fabric.
"It shouldn't leak anymore. But you should have a professional plumber check the whole system just to be safe. "
"Thanks," I said, trying hard not to stare at his soaked shirt, but my eyes kept drifting back. Damn, it was like some kind of torture. "I... I owe you one."
"Don't mention it," he replied, his brown eyes locking onto mine as if he could see right through me. I suspected he'd noticed my glances, because a faint smile played on his lips. "We're neighbors; helping each other is what we do."
Neighbors. He was reminding me that we were more than that—we were Sofia's parents, lovers from that night five years ago.
In the tense silence that followed, I was the one to break it.
"Your clothes are drenched. You'll catch a cold like that."
He looked down at himself and frowned. "I didn't bring any spares."
"It's okay," I said, my cheeks warming. "I'll get you a towel. Take off the wet stuff, and I'll throw it in the dryer."
A few minutes later, I came back downstairs with a large towel. Alexander had already removed his soaked shirt and was standing bare-chested in the living room.
My breath hitched at the sight.
The muscles I'd only imagined were now right there in front of me—his broad, solid chest, sharply defined abs, arms still tensed from the work... Droplets of water glistened on his skin under the lights.
"The towel," I stammered, struggling not to stare. "You... you can wrap this around yourself."
He took it and draped it casually over his shoulders, leaving most of his chest exposed. It made him look even more... dangerous. More irresistible.
"Hand me the shirt," I said, reaching out and trying to sound normal. "I'll get it drying."
As I took the still-warm, damp shirt from him, his scent hit me hard—pure masculine essence, blended with a hint of cologne and the faint tang of sweat. My heart raced.
"I'll... take care of this," I mumbled, hurrying to the laundry room.
I tossed the shirt into the dryer and set the timer. But as I started to leave, the lingering scent made me pause.
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then did something that filled me with shame—I picked up the wet shirt again and pressed it lightly to my cheek.
It was an unadulterated male aroma, with a trace of sweat from his efforts and his unique musk. It instantly brought back memories of that night five years ago, the feel of him pressing down on me...
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The act felt both humiliating and exhilarating, but I couldn't stop myself. It had been five years—five years since I'd been this close to his scent...
Damn it, what was I doing? This was so perverted...
But my body was responding—a surge of heat low in my abdomen, my panties growing damp...
"Mom?"
Sofia's voice snapped me out of it. I quickly threw the shirt back in and slammed the dryer door shut.
"What are you doing?" She stood in the doorway, looking curiously at my flushed face.
"I... I'm just drying some clothes," I said, my voice shaky. "Go play in the living room; don't hang around here."
"Okay, Mom." She skipped away.
I leaned against the dryer, breathing heavily, trying to compose myself. But that moment made it crystal clear: my desire for Alexander was far stronger than I'd ever admitted.
"Alex!"
As I left the laundry room, I heard Sofia's excited squeal. Clearly, she'd forgotten all our conversations about staying away from him.
"Sofia, watch out for the water on the floor!" I called, but she'd already navigated around the puddles and run straight to him.
Alexander crouched down to her eye level.
"Alex, what are you doing here?" Sofia asked, her little face beaming with innocent joy. "Did you come to play with me?"
"I came to help your mom fix the pipe," he said, his voice so gentle it made my heart ache. "She had a bit of trouble."
"Can you play with me now?" She looked at him hopefully, grabbing his large hand without caring about the water on it. "I have so many toys to show you! Just for a little while? Please? Pretty please!"
She used that classic kid wheedle, her eyes full of pleading.
"Sofia—" I began, ready to say no.
"Please, Mom," she turned to me, her face alight with anticipation, those brown eyes—just like his—sparkling. "Just a short time? Alex helped us so much; I want to thank him. And... I haven't seen him since you blocked the hole..."
Her words hit me hard. She knew I was deliberately keeping her from seeing him, but she didn't understand why.
I looked at her eager expression, then at Alexander... He was watching me too, his eyes holding a mix of plea, hope, and vulnerability.
Finally, I sighed.
"Okay," I said, sounding tired. "But only for a little while."
Sofia cheered and pulled him by the hand toward the living room, carefully avoiding the wet spots.
"Come on, Alex! Look at my new drawing! And my dolls, and my block castle!"
And there I was, standing and watching, a thousand emotions churning inside me.
Sofia hadn't been this happy in so long. Maybe I shouldn't stand in the way.
I sighed again and followed them into the living room, settling cautiously on the edge of the sofa.
Alexander sat on the rug with the towel draped over him, Sofia next to him as she showed off her toy doll. The towel covered little; his chest and abs, along with that sexy tattoo, were on full display under the light, making it impossible to look away.
Every time he leaned in to talk to her, his back muscles shifted, his arms flexing...
It was pure torture.
"This is Elsa," Sofia said earnestly, holding up the blonde doll. "She has magic, just like me!"
"Is that so?" Alexander said, amusement in his voice. "Is her magic like yours?"
"No way!" Sofia shook her head, her expression as serious as if she were discussing something profound. "Hers is ice and snow. Mine makes people happy. Mine's better because everyone needs to be happy."
"Your magic is definitely more powerful," he agreed, gently ruffling her hair in a way that tugged at my heart. "You've already helped so many people with it."
Watching this scene—a nearly naked man patiently playing with a little girl—the stark contrast made my pulse race. He was dangerous yet tender, brimming with masculine appeal and overflowing with fatherly warmth.
That contradictory allure left me breathless.
Before I knew it, time had slipped away; I checked the clock—it was almost six.
Sofia was completely absorbed in their play, her laughter clear and joyful, the kind of pure happiness I hadn't heard from her in ages.
Seeing their interaction—him listening patiently as she explained every toy, responding to her every word with genuine interest—filled me with a swirl of complicated emotions.
It was too perfect a picture, too beautiful to interrupt.
"Alright, Sofia," I said after a moment's hesitation. "It's time for dinner."
"No!" She hugged his arm tightly. "I want to keep playing with Alex!"
Alexander glanced at his phone, then said softly to her, "Sweetheart, your mom is right. And I should head home—I don't want to impose too long."
He stood up, put on his now half-dry shirt, and prepared to leave. But seeing Sofia's disappointed face... and feeling my own unspoken reluctance, I heard myself say,
"You... would you like to stay for dinner?"
I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. But his surprised expression and Sofia's excited squeal made it impossible to take back.
"Really?" Sofia clapped her hands. "Alex can have dinner with us?"
"If... if you don't mind," I said to him, trying to sound casual. "I made spaghetti—there's plenty. And after all the help you just gave..."
My voice trembled. Behind the invitation lay so much I couldn't admit—loneliness, desire, and a longing to extend this fleeting sense of family warmth.
Alexander looked at me, surprise giving way to deep gratitude.
"I'd love to," he said, his voice a little unsteady. "If you're sure it's no trouble."
"It's no trouble," I replied, turning toward the kitchen. "It's just a simple meal—hope you don't mind."
"Mom's spaghetti is the best in the world!" Sofia boasted to him proudly. "You're gonna love it!"
Seeing her so happy, I knew I'd made the right choice.
Even if it would make everything more complicated.
The dinner prep felt... odd.
I busied myself in the kitchen while he kept Sofia entertained in the living room. But I could feel his gaze on me every now and then, intense and heart-quickening. Each time I turned, I'd catch him looking, only for him to glance away casually, a small smile on his lips.
And I... I found myself stealing glances, too.
His shirt was half-dry now, no longer clinging, but my memory was vivid. I could still picture those lines, the contours of his muscles...
Damn it, what was I thinking?
"Need a hand?" He suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, startling me.
"No," I said, nearly knocking over the salt shaker. "I've got it."
"At least let me set the table," he insisted, stepping inside, close enough that I could smell him—masculine hormones mixed with faint cologne and the lingering sweat from earlier, even stronger than from the wet shirt, making my heart pound. "Where are the plates?"
"Upper cabinet," I said, giving in.