“How much?” he asked, lifting his jug of detergent.
Blinking again to try to center her thoughts, she breathed in and out. Oliver was just…doing laundry. Right?
“Maggie?” he prompted.
“Hmmm?” she asked, noticing the light circle of golden yellow around his blue irises.
He moved closer. “How much laundry detergent should I use?” he asked, his voice low and husky and incredibly sexy. How in the world could a question about laundry detergent come out sounding like a caress? It was almost as if the man was asking her how much she wanted him to kiss her!
A lot, would have been her answer.
“Um…” she breathed in and out again. “For a full load, measure up to the line on the laundry detergent cap.”
Maggie’s attention was captured by his long, tanned fingers as he tilted the cup and the laundry detergent bottle slightly, trying to see a barely visible line.
“Got it,” he said, nodding as he poured the detergent. “Just pour it in?”
“Well, sort of…drizzle it around,” she explained. “So it is evenly distributed.”
He did so and closed the lid. “Okay, now what?” he asked.
“Move back,” she ordered. “I’ll show you what to do next, but I can’t have you close to me.”
“Why not?” he asked, but he scooted over a few inches.
She reached over and pressed the buttons. “Because my mind…” She sighed, and tried again. “Well, never mind.” She took her credit card out of her back pocket and pressed several more buttons. “There. All set.”
When she turned around, he was right there! He reached out and held her still, pressing her lightly back against the vibrating machine.
“What’s next?” Oliver asked. But he didn’t wait for her next instruction. Instead, he kissed her, his lips brushing back and forth over hers, caressing her. Teasing her. Taunting her lips until she let out a shaky breath and kissed him back.
His hand lifted, gently cradling her head as he deepened the kiss further. Maggie opened her mouth, wanting to taste him, to feel him more intimately. Unconsciously, she moved her body closer, pressing against him and feeling his body respond.
“Damn, Maggie!” Oliver groaned, lifting her up so that she was sitting on the washing machine now. With deft hands, he pressed her legs wide and pushed his hips against hers. Maggie gasped at the intimate contact, shocked for a moment and she pulled back, staring into his eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his eyes heated as his hands slid up her jean-clad thighs.
Maggie knew she should tell him yes. So why did “No!” come out of her mouth? It was the wrong word, she told herself. But then her hands slid up his arms, her fingertips testing the hard planes and edges of his muscles. “Don’t stop!” she whispered frantically as her legs curled around his hips, pulling him in closer.
Get Maggie’s story HERE!
Heated Secrets (Rose Garden Apartments Book 1) Page 17
