James’ voice early the next afternoon had her jumping in startled awareness as she finished filling the coffeepot. She turned, facing him, thinking what a shame it was that one man would have such sexual presence. He stood propped against the doorway, dressed in dark blue silk slacks and a lighter blue silk shirt. His jacket was held at his shoulder by the crook of his finger, and his green eyes regarded her with lustful secrets. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking my own meals and cleaning my home.” She shrugged. She had been raised to do for herself, and cleaning gave her something to do, a way to occupy her hands when her body was filled with restless energy. He straightened from the doorframe, walking to the table with a casual male grace that threatened to take her breath. She turned quickly from him, moving to the cabinet to retrieve her coffee cup. She fought to still her shaking hands, the nervousness in her stomach that wouldn’t seem to go away. She felt immature, like a quaking child before him.
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