The Boat Builder's Bed by Kris Pearson Read Free Book Online Page A

Billy Joel pounded out “Uptown Girl’. The big saw re-started its raucous screaming.
    “Master suite,” Rafe said, glancing in the direction of the noise. “We can see that later.”
    “So where are we going now? Should I take notes?”  
    He shook his head as he led her down to the lowest level of the sprawling house and closed the door.
    “Not yet. Treat this visit as a quick recce and come back properly once you have more time.”
    She put a couple of quick steps between them and he let her go with reluctance, knowing his need to be close to her would only grow. He wouldn’t be giving up without a fight, that was for sure.
    “Ground floor.” He felt super-aware of his thudding heartbeat, his faster breathing. He hadn’t reckoned on being anywhere near this attracted to her. Strange reaction considering they’d met over his shattered headlight!  
    Far too warm, he pulled off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and reached out for hers as well when he saw the flush on her cheeks. “Guest accommodation. Currently the site office and lunch room.”
    He watched as her big grey eyes inspected the spacious area. One corner had been set up as a compact kitchen with a well-used electric kettle and microwave oven on the counter. Battered plastic chairs and a rough table sat alongside it, and plans covered the wall above a paper-strewn desk. But the rest was much more luxuriously appointed, and he saw her registering this.  
    “Some site office?” she queried. “Leather sofa...big-screen TV?”
    “Night-watchman’s perks.”
    Her eyes widened. “You have an actual night-watchman?”
    “You’re looking at him.”
    “You?”
    “When I’m in Wellington. It works well. It’s the best site office in town. Better than the shipping container up the top ever was. I got the guys to fit out this floor first. Painted everything white for starters so you’ve got a blank canvas.” He turned, surveying his domain. “This’ll be the guest suite when the rest of the house is finished. Right now it’s mine.” He grabbed her hand and led her across to a doorway. “My temporary home office.”
    Sophie glanced in at his state-of-the-art equipment.
    “And this way to my bedroom,” he continued, grinning broadly as he opened another door.  

    He really does live here .  
    She stared open-mouthed at his king-size bed with its crisp navy and white striped cover. At the sleek Scandinavian Ash chests of drawers. And at the industrial shelving along one wall which held books, squash racquets, a crash helmet, beautiful model boats and scuba gear.
    She heard herself make a strange strangled noise as he pulled her further into his room.
    “No, Rafe.”
    She tugged her hand out of his.
    He had a killer smile, she had to concede. Cocky and confident, but not threatening. She was torn between trying to wipe it off his face and doing a little flirting right back at him. Commonsense won out.
    “I don’t socialize with clients.”
    “Maybe I don’t have socializing in mind?”
    Above them the saw screamed and Billy Joel played on.
    “Well to speak plainly, I don’t sleep with men I work for.”  
    His expression changed slightly. She wondered if she’d been too direct.
    “You don’t work for me. With me, maybe, but that’s a big difference. No pressure. Nothing to get in the way.”
    She somehow held his dark-eyed gaze, astounded to find she was burning to feel his hands and lips all over her; desperate to welcome him deep, deep inside where she ached and itched and felt full of slippery heat.  
    “You’re lovely, but I just don’t do things like that,” she said as primly as possible.  

    Rafe breathed out in a rush. Nothing— nothing— felt better than being genuinely wanted. That Sophie wanted him he had no doubt. All the signs were there, even though she was trying to hold on to her defenses. Her dark pupils almost filled her grey irises...her lips were softly parted...her nipples had peaked into hard nubs