“I really didn’t mean to interrupt,” Paige said, her voice softening. “Are you mad?”

I shook my head and sat down beside her. “I’m not mad. Horny? Yes. Mad, no.”

She gave me a sweet smile, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners. There was no way I could be mad at her. I just needed to figure out how to survive the next two months.

Chapter Eight

Paige

Cannon got home just after midnight. I hated myself that I’d waited up, listening for him, but I had. He came home alone, used the bathroom—I’d heard his electric toothbrush humming through the thin wall, the water running—and then closed the door to his bedroom.

Our encounter earlier that evening had played through my mind for hours. It was twice now I’d seen him naked, and I knew I’d never erase the images from my brain. I couldn’t believe the man he’d grown into. And that foul mouth on him?

Your tight little nipples are poked out, begging to be licked . . .

Remembering the way his darkly seductive voice rolled over the words sent a fresh wake of goose bumps skittering down my spine.

Thankfully, the morning passed by quickly. Cannon went to the gym and showered while I headed out for a hair appointment to touch up my color and cut before the charity gala. It worked out perfectly that my regularly scheduled appointment fell on the day of the event. I left the salon feeling refreshed and optimistic. At least my blowout wouldn’t go to waste.

Allie promised she’d be by at four to pick us up for the event. When I arrived home, I touched up my makeup and picked out a dress to wear. I slipped into a champagne-colored cocktail dress with a high neckline and plunging back that I’d picked up last year at a designer sample sale but never had an excuse to wear. The cut of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, but it was so well fitted that I didn’t think anyone would notice. My long hair was blown out in soft waves that tumbled down my back.

I could hear Cannon moving around in the house, and for some strange reason, I felt nervous about seeing him.

Slipping my feet into the tall black heels I’d regret within the hour, I was ready. As I added my grandma’s beautiful vintage diamond earrings, I checked my appearance in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door. The high heels elongated my legs, and the dress shimmered in the light.

My mind wandered back to last night. His making dinner for us had been such an unexpectedly sweet gesture, and our conversation had flowed so easily. I’d thought I already knew him pretty well, but there had been more to discover. I’d seen bits of his past as we talked—the way his mouth had tightened and his brows turned down when he spoke of his modest upbringing, the upbringing that had inspired him to strive for more, and the hope in his eyes when he’d told me about practicing medicine. I liked this new, adult version of Cannon.

It was strange. As much as I’d detested the idea of having a roommate at first, I found the company to be pleasantly refreshing. I even felt safer, slept better, with him under the same roof. Maybe it was because we were more alike than I’d remembered. I understood Cannon’s philosophy on—how did he say it? oh, yeah—the art of making lemonade. I understood it better probably than anyone.

My mother had always told me I was a careful and overly cautious little girl. From the time I could walk, I was serious and often worried. Always the responsible one, someone friends could count on. Then I lost my parents within a year of each other after my high school graduation, and my world became dark and lonely. It took several months before I realized it was up to me to make it better, and I wouldn’t tarnish their memory by falling apart.

I’d never done anything wild or reckless or foolish. I took care of people. It was what I did. I guess, in my own way, I was making lemonade. I enjoyed my work as human resources manager for a non-profit, I took in Enchilada off the street when I found him wandering without a collar, Allie and I stuck by each other through thick and thin. I just carried on. One day after another. Of course I wanted more, wanted to find someone to share my life with, but that would happen in time. Though the conversation and meal last night with a man who’d been attentive and sweet only cultivated that feeling inside me more.

Deciding I couldn’t procrastinate any longer, I headed out to see if Cannon was ready too. I found him standing in the kitchen, loading a plate and a glass into the dishwasher.

He was bent at the waist, and my eyes zeroed in on his firm ass. Holy shit. The man had the body of a Greek god. The air left my lungs as I drank in the view. Yep, it had been entirely too long since I’d gotten laid.

As he rose to face me, a slow smile spread across his lips. I’d been caught. I quickly looked away, but the damage was done.

“Ready?” I asked, breathless.

Cannon looked scrumptious in a black suit, crisp white dress shirt that was fitted enough to hint at the muscle beneath, and a wine-colored tie. His hair was messy and his jaw held a dusting of a shadow. His body was so masculine, so heavy with the promise of sex, that it drew mine like a magnet.

Rather than answer, Cannon’s smile faded and his gaze slipped from mine. My body heated under his perusal as his gaze drifted over the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips. If it was possible to spontaneously combust under the weight of his stare, I was about to find out.

“Get a good look?” I finally managed to say, scolding him.

“Did you?” he asked, his voice much too controlled. “Shall I spin around for you? Maybe get naked again?” He chuckled after that last part, and I felt my face heat.