Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(20)

That left me in a bind with Hayes. I had to bring food for the potluck at six, and there was no way I’d be able finish up at his place and get back home in time to fix it, let alone make myself presentable, so I’d thrown the chicken into a Crock-Pot and grabbed the ingredients for biscuits to take with me. I figured I could clean, throw together the biscuits, and then take a quick shower before grabbing the pot and running out the door.

Was it appropriate? Not even a little, but beggars can’t be choosers and it’s not like he was paying me. Fortunately he wasn’t even home, so it seemed to be a non-issue. The last of the cleaning went smoothly enough, and showering at his place was a treat. The house might be old, but he’d gone all out in the addition and the bathroom was luxe.

Beyond luxe, actually. It was big, almost as big as one of the little bedrooms upstairs. There was a sunken tub built for two and a large, glassed-in shower stall with one of those fancy adjustable shower heads that go up and down. I’d lowered it for myself, making careful note of where he’d had it set. I’d make sure it was back where it was supposed to be when I finished, but it was still a pleasure to use a shower that was actually the right height for me.

By the time my hair was all washed and I stepped out, I was in a pretty good mood. I couldn’t wait to see Jessica in her element at the community center again. Life with her was a series of ups and downs, but I had a good feeling about tonight.

Maybe she could even get a job down there, because for all her faults she really did have something to offer those kids that a more typical young woman wouldn’t bring to the table. Maggs Dwyer might be new, but she was smart. When she looked at Jessica, she saw the same potential that I did.

My mood stayed good as I toweled off my hair, and then I looked around for my backpack and realized I’d left it in the bedroom. Humming brightly, I opened the door and screamed.

Reese Hayes was sitting back on his bed holding a bowl of food, eyes trailing down my figure speculatively. A slow, predatory smile crossed his face and he set the bowl on the bedside table, pushing to his feet.

Run! my brain screamed, but my feet didn’t move. Seriously. No movement at all, just like in one of those dreams where a giant dinosaur suddenly appears in the grocery store parking lot and you can’t seem to start running away or even throw a package of chicken thighs to create a diversion, no matter how hard you try.

Chicken thighs? Where did that come from? Why couldn’t I focus?

Hayes stalked toward me, and then one of his fingers slid down the front of my towel, right between my breasts. My nipples perked up, acting against orders. He tugged gently at the fabric, and finally my body started listening to me. I clamped down my arms against the towel, holding it firm as I took a step back.

He let me go, a strange smile teasing his lips.

“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Wet and naked’s a good look on you. Gotta say, between this and the food you’ve turned my day right around.”

Food?

I glanced over at the bowl, then realized he’d been in the chicken and biscuits. Crap. I loved it when the biscuits formed a perfect, unbroken layer across the top while the broth bubbled up along the edges. Now there’d be a gap. Of course, I couldn’t exactly begrudge the man some dinner, given that I’d essentially taken over his house without permission.

In retrospect, I think I might have subconsciously set myself up. From the beginning he’d fascinated me . . . He scared me, too, but he’d also gotten under my skin like a bur. Maybe if I hadn’t been so out of practice, I’d have figured it out sooner.

Holding the towel firmly, I gave him a tight smile.

“Sorry. I got delayed this morning. One of my employees is in the hospital, and I have a potluck after this. I figured you wouldn’t mind, seeing as I didn’t even charge you for the cleaning . . .”

A flash of pain crossed his face.

“Had an employee in the hospital this morning myself,” he said. “Hope yours turned out better than mine. If you aren’t gonna take off that towel, then you should get dressed now, I think.”

“That’s the goal,” I said dryly, deciding not to follow up on the hospital comment. It didn’t sound like a happy story.

I didn’t want to get involved.

“Can you hand me my bag?” I asked, nodding toward the backpack I’d left sitting near the door. He walked casually over to grab it, and I couldn’t help but watch the movement of his legs under those jeans. His thighs were thick, and not with fat. He had a tight butt, broad shoulders, and a back that I wanted to rub my cheek against.

When he turned back toward me, my eyes widened. I have a thing for muscular men, no question, and his body pushed every one of my buttons. Broad chest, thick arms and thighs . . . And his stomach? Holy cow, I just knew that under that tight black shirt would be the perfect six-pack. The man’s body was ideal—not like a twenty-year-old’s, though. No, he had the solidity that only comes with age and endurance and maturity.

My eyes had just drifted lower, below the belt, when he spoke.

“How important is this potluck thing?” he asked softly. Huh? I blinked, then glanced back up at his face. Oh, wow. He’d totally caught me checking him out. He liked it, too. I saw heat in his eyes, the kind of heat that only means one thing. This is why I shouldn’t be let out in public, I decided. I just couldn’t be trusted to handle myself.