“How can I complain about never doing laundry, cleaning, or cooking? That would make me completely ungrateful and selfish.”
“No,” he said softly. “It would just make you human.”
She stilled. His masculine presence pressed down around her like humid air, wrapping her up in a tight hug. She realized his muscular leg was pressed against hers as they sat. His arm brushed hers. His scent filled her nostrils, musk and sweat and soap and skin. All male, all him, all real and raw. Her stomach did a slow flip, and her fingers tightened around the bag.
A dangerous hum of attraction hung between them. Afraid to look into his eyes and be trapped there forever, Morgan drew in a shaky breath, but the energy was too much, and she turned her head, ready to take the tumble.
Suddenly the bag was ripped away from her.
“You ate all the chips.”
She blinked, and just like that the spell was broken. Morgan didn’t know if she was relieved or annoyed. “I only ate a quarter,” she pointed out. “You owe me at least five more.”
He peered into the bag and looked at her outstretched hand. “Hell no. I’m bigger and need more salt content than you. Besides, I’m doing you a favor.”
She lifted a brow. “How?”
He stuffed a bunch in his mouth and chewed without remorse. “Don’t women complain of bloating and stuff when they eat chips?”
Her mouth dropped open. Oh, hell no. He hadn’t gone there. Had he? “Did you just put the words women and bloating together in the same sentence and expect to live?”
He paused, looking a tiny bit wary. “Stop trying to scare me. I’m trying to be nice.”
She gave a cackle and jumped to her feet. “I’d hate to see what you’re like when you’re mean, Charming. Oh, BTW, watch the love handles.”
He spit out the chips and jerked his chin up. “What?”
Morgan slid her palms down to cup the famous part where the extra fat settled. Not that he had any, but damned if she’d let him off the hook. “Love handles. Right here. You know, that part a woman grabs when she’s having sex with—”
“I know what love handles are, dammit! Are you saying I have them?”
She tamped down on her amusement and relied on her brutal, cold, businesslike efficiency to make her final jab. Her gaze fell upon Cal’s tight stomach and swept over lean hips that had a lot less flab than hers. Oh well. She liked her body and her curves and rarely apologized. If any man wasn’t turned on by her form, she happily told them to keep on trucking and find a skinny-assed model. Besides, he’d already seen her practically naked and seemed to like what was on display. She ignored the dip of her belly and how badly she wanted a rerun of that night. “Ummm, no. Of course not.” With perfect delivery, she landed the knockout punch. “But I think you may be right. I’ll skip the chips.”
His blistering curse was the perfect backdrop.
She got back to work.
chapter nine
Cal stood in the middle of Blossom & Company, one of the customized lighting and accent stores in Harrington, known for its uniqueness, quality, and of course, price.
After a brutal workday, they’d taken an hour to change and regroup before heading into town. Cal wasn’t a complainer, but shopping for home decor was so much more Tristan, who actually gave a shit if a lamp was placed in a certain room for atmosphere, style, and correct shadowing. Him? A lamp gave light, and that was good enough.
Still, after Morgan had gone and put in a longer day than one of his guys, he was keeping his mouth shut. They’d stopped for a lobster roll, and he’d followed her obediently into the home warehouse, planning to be helpful and polite and home in time to put the baseball game on.
That was two hours ago, and his original intention had gone AWOL.
Now? Yeah, he was just cranky and bored out of his mind.
“What do you think of this?” she asked. He wished the damn store served alcohol rather than sparkling froufrou water. He took in the beaded, fringy thing that looked like it should be from the seventies.
“What is it?”
She sighed. “A lamp.”
He crinkled his brow and poked at it. “Where does the bulb go?”
“You hang it upside down and it gives the impression of a chandelier. See, I’d like to get it for the bathroom but wanted to get your take. Is it possible to make it work?”
Cal blinked. “We usually install the fan in the bathroom. Won’t this fabric part get moldy from the steam? And why would anyone want a weird green thing hanging in front of the toilet?”
Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Seemed like she didn’t want his advice on how the thing looked, just how it could be installed. “It’s vintage. I’m going with an antique-looking type of bathroom. Claw-foot tub. Tapestry. This would be perfect, and no, I don’t want a fan in the bathroom.”
“Huh? What if it gets stinky in there?”
She gave a long-suffering groan. “It won’t. It’s a bathroom to look at, not really use.”
Cal scratched his head. “Yeah, like that makes tons of sense. Will there be a toilet?”
“Of course! Why are you asking ridiculous questions?”
“Why are you forcing me to look at ridiculous shit?”
She glared and tapped her foot. Her comfortable clothes consisted of white linen shorts, a yellow tank top, and white sandals with little silver chains on them. Her hair was back to its perfect condition, the silvery strands swishing past her cheeks at a sharp angle. He bet she’d paid a fortune for that cut. She’d be even more pissed if he told her the truth.