She shuffled forward to make room as Eamonn came through the door behind her, but she didn’t want to leave the tiled door well and drip all over the hardwood floor and area rugs. She kicked off her shoes. “I’m going to find the bathroom and get dry,” she said. “Unless you want to go first?”
“You go ahead, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” she muttered as she jogged to the door that presumably led to the bedroom and its en suite bathroom. “Wow!”
The bed was enormous, a king-size four-poster in pale birchwood, with pale gold satin sheets and pillows and a darker gold comforter, plus a patchwork quilt in shades of cream and champagne folded over the end of the bed. It looked spectacular, warm and inviting. And massive. More than enough room for two, and whatever acrobatic activity they wanted to engage in. Nope. Not going to happen. She took a quick look around for the daybed the office description had mentioned and was ridiculously glad to see it under the window — more of a chaise longue, but there’d be enough room to stretch out. She’d take the quilt from the bed and leave Eamonn the comforter. She noticed with pleasure that the gas fireplace was a two-sided one so they could enjoy its warmth in the bedroom as well as the living area. Sad to need a fireplace in summer, but it would be nice with this rain. Oh, Pacific Northwest, how I love you. This last thought was accompanied by a bit of sarcasm, but in truth, she didn’t mind the rain. It kept things green and fresh.
The bathroom was every bit as luxurious as the rest of the cottage. As she skinned out of her wet things, she eyed the deep whirlpool bathtub and separate glass-walled shower stall that filled one side of the room. On the opposite side, the toilet was tucked behind a half-wall for semi-privacy, and it had what looked like a bidet attachment. Nell wasn’t about to mess with that, at least until she had more of a chance to inspect the operating instructions, but she appreciated the heated seat. She put on her sleepwear, a girly set she hated — a gag gift from Amy, frilly pale pink with little hearts for a woman who wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that, just so Amy could see the expression on her face when she opened it — but they’d been the only clean set in the drawer when she’d had to pack so quickly. She covered herself with one of the fluffy cream-colored bathrobes hanging on the bathroom door and hung her wet clothes over the glass wall of the shower to dry.
With a sigh, she headed back out through the bedroom to the living area. “Your turn,” she said to Eamonn, then stifled a gasp.
He stood in the kitchenette area, next to the electric kettle, poking through a basket of what Nell guessed to be packets of tea, hot chocolate mix, and instant coffee. “Want some tea or something?” he asked. Just as if he weren’t standing there shirtless and barefoot, nothing keeping him decent except for a pair of very snug wet jeans. When he’d been fully dressed, she hadn’t noticed his jeans. They were jeans, unobtrusively blending with his hoodie and boots, the rock-and-roll man on a road trip. Now, she could see how the sodden denim molded itself to him, outlining every muscle and… everything.
“I hope you’re wearing underwear under those,” she blurted out before she could censor herself.
He stared at her in amused disbelief. “You’re asking me if I’m going commando?”
She could feel herself blushing. Ugh. How did he do that to her? She didn’t blurt things out without thinking. She didn’t blush. And yet, when she was around him, these things kept happening. “Yeah, no. I don’t want to know. That was a rhetorical statement, not a question, Eamonn Yarrow. Based on the fact that you’re half-naked, and I’m your co-worker and supervisor.”
“Don’t be prickly,” he said mildly. “My hoodie and t-shirt were soaked, so I took them off. You’ve seen a man shirtless before, yeah? So it’s not a big deal. Cup of tea? There are a bunch of flavors here — white vanilla grapefruit, pomegranate oolong, mint verbena, English Breakfast, something called Paris, rooibos chai…” He poked through the basket again. “I think that’s it. Or hot chocolate.”
Thoughtful. She hadn’t expected that of him. Because rock stars aren’t supposed to be thoughtful. Still a sexist pig, though. “I’ll have mint verbena, please. Paris is my favorite, but I don’t need the caffeine right now,” she said, then after a moment, she added, “Thank you.”
She crossed the room to turn on the fireplace. Pleasant flames leapt up behind the glass, and soon a glow of warmth began to fill the room. Two overstuffed cream-colored loveseats faced each other across a coffee table by the fire. She sank into the corner of one of them, tucking her feet up and snugging the ends of the bathrobe around herself.
“Milk and sugar?” Eamonn asked, and Nell shook her head.
“Just black, please.” When he brought the mug to her, she looked up at him and gave him a rueful grimace as she accepted it. “I don’t mean to be prickly, you know? I’ve just never worked with someone like you. I know how to shut down flirty guys in bars and I know how to train and compete with all kinds of people, but work? It’s weird.”
“That’s okay, ninja woman. I’m not really an office kind of guy.”
“I can’t imagine you would be, all things
