Carrot and Coriander Read Free Page B

perfection against his rough and, despite his efforts at her sink, somewhat grimy paw. Her nails were beautifully shaped and polished, a pale, pearly pink color, reminding him of seashells. Against his better judgment he allowed another stray mental image to form and focus, an image of those long, elegant fingers wrapped tightly around his cock—a mistake because said cock leaped straight to attention again. Shit. Now he wouldn’t be able to stand up without her noticing it. Still, he loved the softness of her palm against his, and maybe held onto it just slightly too long. She didn’t seem to mind.
    He dug around in his rapidly scrambling, testosterone-flooded brain and managed to find something polite. “Me too. And you make nice soup. Rachel.” Lame, but polite.
    She smiled, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. Clearly she appreciated his efforts. “Thank you. And you make nice rockeries. Callum.”
    “We’ll see.”
    “I’m sure. How long will it take you to finish it, do you think?”
    He shrugged. “If the weather stays decent, a couple more days. Then I’ll be out of your way.”
    “Right.” She nodded again, studied her empty bowl carefully. “You’re not in my way. And I might have other jobs for you to do. If you’re not too busy, obviously. Do you have a lot of work on just now?”
    Sensing her hesitancy, but knowing an opening when one leaped up and clouted him around the head, Callum glanced up sharply. “There’s always something. Let me know what you need and I’ll try to accommodate you.”
    His gaze caught and this time held her emerald one. Neither spoke for a few seconds. Callum was considering all the possible meanings of that phrase, the wealth of potential, and he thought perhaps Rachel’s mind was exploring a similar theme.
    “Yes, yes, I will. Definitely. Yes.”
    Right, so she’d cracked first. He found a degree of satisfaction in that.
    Flustered, she got up from the table and shuffled their empty bowls into a pile for the washing up. That done, she hurried back to the relative safety of her folding. Since his erection was showing no signs of diminishing he knew it was just a matter of time before neither of them could ignore it any longer. Still, he stayed where he was. On impulse, he decided to ask a favor.
    “Rachel?”
    She paused, a tiny pair of corduroy trousers in her hands, and looked at him nervously.
    “Yes?”
    “I wonder…” He hesitated. How to ask without it sounding weird? “I’m going straight off somewhere after work. Would you mind if I took a shower here? I’d knock something off the bill for the hot water, obviously.”
    He couldn’t help noticing she sagged in relief—what on earth had she thought was coming?
    “Yes, of course. You’re welcome. I’ll be going out at around five to pick Jacob up, but just help yourself. It’s upstairs, first door on the left. I’ll leave you some towels out.” She sounded distinctly relieved.
    “Thanks. I’ll just be getting on then…” He took advantage of the fact that she was digging in her laundry basket for more stuff to fold, and sidled behind her heading for the great outdoors where he might be able to find a secluded corner in which to subdue his rampant cock. He was out of the door again before she had chance to spot the telltale bulge in his jeans.
    Christ, he had an erection. My soup made him hard. Bloody hell.
    She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or outraged, but settled for something in the region of quietly smug. The memory of that thick, long bulge stretching the front of those sexy jeans, and his determined attempts to hide it from her, kept a smile on her face all afternoon as she wrestled with the financial affairs of Mr Wright and Mr Hardisty, plumbers of this parish. He was still hard at it—pun intended, she thought wryly—as she left to pick up her little boy at the end of the day.
    * * * *
    When she returned twenty minutes later she saw immediately that his van was still there,