She sagged against the counter and shook her head to clear it. A tap on the window made her jump again. The light of humor in his eyes undid her. She strode out of the kitchen without another word. That would teach her to gawk out the window at him. She grabbed the step stool and moved it down a couple feet, kicked over the bucket of water and yowled with frustration. She cleaned up the spill as fast as she could. The floors hadn’t been waxed in ages and she was afraid the water would leave a stain. More work! TJ should have taken what he wanted last night. He should have thrown off her sheets and just—taken her. A thrill raced up her belly at the idea of TJ dragging her to the floor, wedging his hand between her legs and making her want it so bad she went blind. She halted dead center of the room. That’s exactly what she wanted, to be overwhelmed, taken, in the fullest sense of the word. Forced? She shied away from that word. Not forced but teased to the point of madness, to the point of helplessness in the face of her own lust.
