She closed the door behind him with a soft, deliberate click that sounded far too final in the suddenly thick silence of her house now with a criminally beautiful boy of her daughter.
"Let me just—" she gestured vaguely at the book still pressed against the heavy, swaying swell of her breast, at the half-empty wine glass on the hall table, at the general state of a soft, barefoot woman who had clearly been enjoying a quiet, private evening before pure temptation walked through her front door.
"I'll set these down. Living room's through there. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I'd offer wine but I'm not sure if that's—" Did not want to say she wasn't sure if that was legal or illegal, she did not know his age but sure as hell he was teenager.
Who knew his actual age?
"Water is perfect. Thank you."
"Of course." Her voice had dropped into something breathier, almost husky relief.
She turned and walked ahead of him.
And sweet merciful fuck...
