Sure, her favorite channel was on.
But Brock was cleaning.
And she was supervising.
Muscles flexed beneath his black T-shirt as he moved around the room, first vacuuming—sending her apologetic looks every time he got close to her and the TV—and next, grabbing Windex and starting in on the windows.
The room was so dusty he’d need to vacuum twice.
But she didn’t want to tell him that. In fact, it would have been smarter for him to vacuum last, but again, interrupting the dream currently taking place in front of her very eyes seemed like a stupid idea.
He didn’t move fast.
He wasn’t graceful.
But he moved with a purpose, like he’d been given an important job and he was going to see it through. Her entire body clenched as his large hands moved across the glass, muscles still flexing. She almost wondered if the windows were going to crack under the pressure; it wasn’t as if he had a light touch.
Though she knew him capable of one.
Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer.
Why was he even helping her?
Was it out of pity? Or because he really did want her company? Maybe he even blamed himself for the rooster attack?
“So.” Brock made his way back over to her after cleaning the last window. “There’s still dust. How is there still dust?”
She grinned. “You need to dust to make the dust go away.”
“I knew that.”
“I know.”
“I was just checking.” He didn’t move, his smile growing. “And where would I find the…duster?”
“Close.”
“Damn it,” he mumbled.
She would not laugh. Not when he looked that embarrassed and miserable. “You know, why don’t I dust the coffee table and show you?” She leaned over. “It’s right in front of me so it won’t be hard.”
He swallowed, his eyes shuttering closed before he let out a raspy breath. “All right.”
Frowning, she waited for him to grab her cleaning bucket and bring it over. Once it was settled in front of her, she grabbed the Pledge and one of the dusting rags and went to work.
The wood was beautiful beneath all that dust, except for some tiny marks on the edge of the table. It looked like some kid had taken a knife to it in order to keep tally marks for some sort of game.
“So you just spray it?” Brock asked. “And then…” He made a motion with his hand. “Rub?”
“Yes, that’s about as complicated as it gets.”
“Is it hot in here? Should I turn on the AC?” He stood abruptly, nearly stumbling into the table.
“Actually, I was kind of cold,” she said honestly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself again. “But if you’re hot I’ll just cover up more.”
“No!” he shouted. “I mean, no, it’s not a big deal.” His eyes flickered to her chest and then back up; he was clearly embarrassed. “I’ll just finish up the table.”
“Great.” She leaned over again, and his eyes flickered closed as he mumbled a curse. “Brock, are you okay?”
“Hmm?” His gaze locked on hers. “Yup. Fantastic.”
“Okay.” She leaned over again and sprayed the Pledge on the remaining dusty parts of the table. only to have him bite out another curse.
“Hey, Jane?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t take this wrong.”
“Okay…” Her guard shot straight up.
“But every time you lean over the table I can literally see directly down your shirt, and as much as you joked last night about me being old, I’m still a hot-blooded male. And the sight of two perfectly rounded breasts keeps taking my attention away from the task at hand, so if you could just…” He gently reached for her and pushed her back against the couch. “Stay. Right here. Then I can finish up before I lose my fucking mind.”
Stunned, her mouth dropped open, and then she looked down. V-neck. Duh, she hadn’t even thought about it.
Brock followed her gaze, his eyes heating.
“Jane.” It was a whisper, it was a question, and then his mouth was on hers—harsh, forceful, but so inviting she whimpered at the contact—and when his hands reached for her breasts, she leaned even more into him, begging him with her body to take what she couldn’t voice aloud.
It was a bad idea.
He was a bad idea.
Taken.
Ready to be married off.
But in the game room, on the couch, he was hers.
So she kissed him back with as much passion as she possessed, her hands digging into the front of his shirt while his teeth nipped at her bottom lip; his hips ground against hers until with a groan he pressed her back against the couch.
His hands slid beneath her shirt, unhooking her bra with ease as he nudged her thighs apart.
“You feel so soft,” he murmured against her mouth. “Perfect.” Another plundering kiss, his tongue flicking hers before his lips slid down her neck and sucked. “So damn good.”
With a moan, she pressed as close as she could against him, nearly riding his leg in an effort to get more of him.
“That’s it,” he encouraged while she clawed at him.