Midnight Kiss (Virgin River #12)(37)

“Good morning, Will,” she droned.

“Did I mention that a little enthusiasm would help?”

“God, you’re annoyingly chipper in the mornings, aren’t you?”

He grinned unrepentantly. “That I am.”

“Good thing we’re never having sex. I’d have to boot you out during the night or kill you at dawn.”

“That, my dear, is another discussion altogether. I’ve made my conditions clear.” His smile was cocky and completely unruffled as he cupped one hand behind his ear. “Now, I don’t believe I heard you properly the first time.”

“Good morning, Will,” she said through gritted teeth.

Then she threw off the blanket and uncurled herself. “Good morning, Will.” Her voice rose as she did, and he stood, too. She walked right up to where her feet touched his boots. “Good morning, Will,” she shouted, her teeth bared in a grimace.

He smiled. “Could still use some work to convince me, darlin’, but I’m a merciful man.”

She snatched the mug and growled, then walked around him toward her bathroom.

Once inside, she slammed the door, took a healthy swallow and leaned back against the wood as her taste buds danced over the best cup of coffee she’d had in…ever.

Jordan slowly slid down the door, settled on the floor and indulged herself.

“You all right in there?” Will asked from the other side.

“Go away. I’m having a religious experience,” she answered. She sipped again and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

On the other side of the wood, Will grinned.

And tried not to think about how enticing she looked in those skimpy pajamas.

“Take your time, darlin’.”

Jordan smiled into her cup. “I intend to.”

CHAPTER SIX

IN THE GYM A FEW DAYS LATER, Jordan finished her free-weight sets and headed toward the treadmill, wiping sweat from her forehead. In the mirrored wall, she caught a glimpse of a young guy new to the gym, a long-haired god oozing rude good health and a young man’s raging hormones.

He was checking out her behind, and he didn’t look away when their gazes met.

For just one moment, she paused, letting her gaze linger, allowing sheer lust to sweep through her as if at thirty-six she weren’t a good ten years older than him. Then she smiled, the smile only an older woman has the confidence to hazard. His eyebrows rose, his grin spreading.

Jordan laughed and felt better than she had in days. She climbed on the treadmill and set it for half an hour, random inclines, and pushed the speed up a notch from usual.

Got to keep that butt firm and noteworthy.

Fiona arrived for her daily writing break. “What’s got you so cheery today?”

“Check out the long hair over by the bench press.”

“Oh, my,” Fiona drawled. “Pitty pat, pitty pat.”

Jordan laughed. “He likes my behind. I might keep him.”

“Well, it’s not like he’d be the first younger man for you.”

“Again with the digs.”

“You can’t argue with the truth.”

“I’ve apparently lost my ability to argue, period.”

“What’s that mean?” Fiona asked.

“What’s what mean?” Marly said as she approached.

“Hey, stranger,” Jordan greeted. “You haven’t been in lately.”

“I need a life,” Marly replied, frowning.

“Are you okay?” Fiona asked.

“I’m fine.” Marly’s smile wasn’t one hundred percent convincing, but her expression clearly said bug off. “What’s up with you?” she asked Jordan.

“I have a bone to pick with you, lady.”

“With me?” Marly’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes, you. That man has been to my house three times this week. He’s fixed my faucet, my windows, and changed the lock on my door. He’s driving me insane.”

“What man?” Fiona asked.

“Will,” Marly offered, grinning. “Has to be.”

“Will?”

“Will Masterson, remember, Fiona? The big Irishman who works with David. Don’t listen to a word Jordan says. He’s fabulous. Remember the beautiful doors we saw at the gallery we visited the last time we went out art-gazing? Will made those.”

Fiona nodded. “Those doors were works of art, not mere wood. So why is this artisan playing handyman at Jordan’s loft?”

Jordan made a rude noise.

Marly simply smiled. “They met at Thanksgiving at my house, and Will’s smitten. So’s she.”

“What?” Jordan all but shouted.

“Smitten? Our Jordan?”

“Marly’s lost her freaking mind.” Jordan glared at Marly. “I am not smitten. The man’s insufferable.”

“But how is he in bed?” Fiona asked. “You could certainly do worse than a strapping Irishman.”

Jordan fell quiet.

Fiona stopped her treadmill and stared. “Oh, my. Can it be? Is there one man in Austin Jordan hasn’t bagged?”

“There are lots of them,” Jordan replied. “You make it sound like all I do is have sex.”

Her friends didn’t respond but only waited.