“Yeah. No sugar.” She raised a brow at Daniel.
Was that a smirk on his lips? It was hard to tell. It could have been a new version of his scowl. He was so aggravating. How could he be so calm when she felt like she’d just been hit by a truck?
“Can I take another one for break time?” Sandy asked.
“Sure.” Becca nodded tightly. The tension was slowly draining out of her. “Take one home for Marty, too, if you’d like.”
“He’d love that. He’s always asking me what you’ve been baking. That man has a hollow leg.” Sandy smiled over at Daniel. “You should try one. They smell amazing.”
“I’m watching what I eat.” His voice was low.
Against her will, Becca’s gaze moved to him again. He was all lean lines and thick muscles. Not an ounce of fat to be seen.
“Don’t be silly.” Sandy laughed. “Here, take one.”
Daniel glanced at Sandy affectionately, taking a napkin-wrapped scone from her hand. Becca’s brows pinched together. He was affectionate now? Did he even know that emotion?
Then he turned on his heel and walked toward the still room, his gait easy and smooth, unlike Becca’s heart rate.
“There you go,” Sandy said, walking around the reception desk to hand Becca the sewing kit. “Why don’t you go tidy yourself up and I’ll take the scones to the kitchen for you? We don’t want to give anybody else an eyeful.” Her eyes crinkled. “Though it’s a very pretty eyeful. That bra is to die for.”
“Thanks.” Becca managed a grimace as Sandy handed her the kit. With a sigh, she hurried to the bathroom.
She’d already managed to flash her boss and she hadn’t even started her work day. One thing was for sure – it was going to be a long day.
There was something wrong with him. A bug or a virus he’d picked up on the flight back from the UK. It was the only explanation for the way he’d behaved in reception.
Daniel leaned on his desk, staring at the cheese scone like it was the holy grail. He’d set it there ten minutes earlier when he’d basically ran away from Becca Hartson like he was in the playground and thought she had cooties. Jesus Christ, he needed to pull himself together.
It would help if every time he blinked he didn’t see the soft curve of her breast beneath the lacy fabric of her bra. Or think of how warm and inviting her skin looked.
Damn. He needed to stop this. She was his employee.
He was a damn hypocrite, lusting after a woman who was too young and too wrong and who clearly thought he was an asshole. He dropped his head into his hands and breathed out heavily. Coming back here was a bad idea. He’d known it even when he’d agreed with his mom that Nathan deserved an adventure, and that he’d cover for Nathan the same way his brother had covered for him.
He should have stayed in Scotland. Life was easy there. Predictable. And he didn’t go around getting hard-ons at the sight of the female body.
His stomach turned at the memory. He hated himself right now. Had she noticed the effect she had on him? For a moment, she’d stared right back at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her chest heaving in a way he was trying really hard not to think about. And he’d wondered if she could feel the spark he’d been feeling.
No she couldn’t because there wa
s no damn spark. It was just jet lag. That was all. Next time he’d be on his guard. Walk away without even looking.
Next time? Dream on, man.
Grunting with irritation at his own damn thoughts, he pulled the cheese scone toward him, lifting it and inspecting the pastry as though it was something precious. It was lighter than he’d expected. When he tore a piece of the golden crust between his fingers he could see how fluffy it was inside.
Fluffy and fragrant. The aroma of cheese wafted over him, making his stomach gurgle in a reminder that he hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning, having chosen to take a run instead.
Parting his lips, he pressed the morsel onto his tongue and had to stop himself from moaning. Soft and savory, it filled his senses, and before he even realized he’d finished half the scone.
Opening his eyes, he pushed the rest of the pastry away, disgusted with himself. He’d eaten it like he’d stared at her. With a hunger that couldn’t be sated.
Shaking his head, he picked up the remaining portion of the scone and threw it in the trashcan. He wasn’t going to eat the rest no matter how good it tasted. And he wasn’t going to stare at Becca Hartson and wonder what her warm skin would feel like against his fingertips.
He was better than this. He’d be aloof and calm. He knew how to separate work and pleasure.
Standing, he caught a reflection of himself in the glass of his drinks cabinet. His hair was messed up, thanks to the raking of his fingers. He smoothed it back and straightened his collar, pushing his shoulders back.