Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(20)

Holy hell… he was completely naked. While it was a brief glance and I definitely sought out just his eyes, my surrounding vision took in his nude form in all its glory. I’m sadly disappointed I didn’t get a better look at the rest of him, and my cheeks burn with the realization that I am undeniably, one-hundred percent, completely attracted to this strange and frustrating man.

But God… look at him. What’s not to be attracted to?

I go back to finishing a few more swipes of the rug. Turning the vacuum off, I push it out of his room. I have the distinct feeling he’s smirking at me. I wish I were brave enough to do something that would leave him confounded, wondering if Savannah “Sweet” Shepherd isn’t quite the demure little creature he has me pegged to be.

But truly… I don’t have that in me. Especially not with the lack of sleep I’m functioning under. I’d probably end up doing something completely lame and cheesy, and my new nickname from him would be “Dork.”

When I reach the hallway, as an afterthought, I can’t help but turn back around to ask him, “Do you want me to clean your office really quick since I didn’t get it last week?”

Damn… he has a pair of jeans on already, but his chest is still yummy and bared to me. He nods his head while reaching in a drawer for a T-shirt. “Just give it a quick dusting. You can do the floor next week. I have to make a few calls before I start writing.”

I quickly run downstairs and grab my bucket of supplies, trudging up to the third floor. The last flight of stairs leaves me winded, and I’m betting that has everything to do with lack of food energy.

His office is nice with dark hardwoods and burgundy walls. It holds nothing but an ornate wooden desk in the middle of the room that faces the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the ocean. His desk is well organized with a laptop in the middle, a stack of legal pads, and a few pens. To the right of the laptop sits a small frame, and I creep forward to get a closer look.

I’m surprised to see it’s a picture of a little boy sitting on the steps outside of a house. He’s adorable, with brown hair and bright blue eyes. He’s showing a semi-toothless grin at the camera, and I have to wonder who it is.

I hear Gavin coming up the stairs so I quickly get to work dusting his desk, making a quick pass over the framed photo but steering clear of his laptop. I also wipe down the doors and windowsills, deciding against cleaning the windows because they look to be in good shape and I know Gavin wants to get to work.

By the time Gavin sits at his desk and boots up his computer, I’m backing out of his office. Just before he closes the door, he reminds me, “A sandwich and some chips if you don’t mind around noon.”

“Sure thing, boss man,” I tell him and shut the door behind me.





“Sweet… wake up,” I hear a voice say, sounding like it’s way off in the distance. I push mentally against it and sink back down into slumber.

Something touches my shoulder lightly and shakes me. “Come on, Sweet… get up.”

“Stop,” I say grouchily, swatting at the offending thing that’s shaking me.

I hear a chuckling sound, and it gets louder. “Savannah… wake up. You’re going to get a kink in your neck in that position.”

What?

I lift my head up and blearily open my eyes. Looking around in confusion, I’m in a place I don’t immediately recognize, and then Gavin’s face comes into focus. Then I see that I’m in his kitchen.

Why in the hell am I in Gavin’s kitchen?

“Gavin?” I ask as I sit up straighter and rub my eyes.

“You fell asleep on the counter,” I hear him say, and awareness starts to filter in.

I finished cleaning but had miscalculated the timing of his laundry, still waiting on the last load to dry. I went ahead and fixed him a sandwich, put it in the fridge, and then sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. I vaguely remember laying my arms on the counter, resting my head there for just a second. I intended to close my eyes for just a moment, hoping to get some relief from the blistering headache that had started about an hour before.

A huge yawn courses through me and I arch my back, stretching my arms skyward, and yup… my neck is sore from the position I was in. No clue how long I was out.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Gavin says. “Sleeping on the job. What’s a stern employer to do?”

“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes again. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“No worries,” he says as he leans a hip against the corner beside where I’m sitting. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks down at me. “No offense, though. You kind of look like crap. Rough night of sleep?”

“Try no sleep at all,” I tell him with another yawn. “I had a job for the newspaper over in Charlotte yesterday and when I got back in to town, I came straight here to clean your house.”

“What the f*ck, Sweet?” I hear him growl, and I focus my weary gaze on him. He looks angry but for the first time, it doesn’t cause a frisson of unease to course through me. I think I’m too tired to be intimidated by him. “You didn’t have to come today. You could have just gone home and slept.”

Pushing myself up from the stool, I stand a little wobbly. “Well, yeah… sorry, but the poor have to work when they can so it wasn’t an option for me to ditch my job.”