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The house was completely silent.

Padding down the hallway, she got to the stairs and went down them, keeping a look out for Kai. It was going to be awkward if she ran into him, because she still hadn’t decided what to do about his marriage proposal.

Creeping down the long hallway downstairs that led to the laundry, she slipped inside without meeting him, thank God. Along one wall was a long counter, and on the counter were her clothes, washed and dried and folded on top of it.

She stared at the pile, shocked.

Someone had done her washing. No, not ‘someone’. The only other person here was Kai, so…it must have been him. Why, though? Was it an automatic thing, the way he’d cooked for her the night before? Then again, this was more specifically about her, since there was no other folded washing here.

Perhaps he was only being hospitable. Still, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something for her, even something as simple as folding her washing. Normally, she was the one who did things for other people, giving comfort and talking through issues. Managing the bills and the kids and all the other day-to-day stuff that went along with managing a group home.

No one did things for her. No one took care of her. And that was fine, because she didn’t need it. She didn’t mind taking care of other people.

But this… It was nice. She wasn’t going to get used to it, though, since she wasn’t going to be here long.

Libby picked up the stack of clothes and turned to leave, only to run into a hard, hot wall of male muscle. She stopped dead and looked up. And up. And up. Into eyes the colour of sleet and ice, which should have frozen her where she stood. Yet, she wasn’t frozen. Instead, the wave of heat and need that had caught at her the night before, in his study, caught at her again, a crushing grip that pinned her to the spot.

‘Oh,’ she managed huskily. ‘G-Good morning.’

Kai stood in front of her, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that sat low on his narrow hips. His chest was bare, all hard carved lines of muscle and sinew, and she couldn’t stop staring. She’d never thought of a man being a work of art before, but he was. He could have been chiselled by Michelangelo himself.

An unfamiliar urge gripped her, to put her hand on that chest, see if his skin was as warm as his hand had been the previous day. See if he’d feel as hard as he looked and if—

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, mercifully derailing her train of thought.

Her cheeks were hot, and she stepped back hurriedly, embarrassed at herself and her inappropriate thoughts. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I was just getting my clothes.’

His gaze dipped to the stack of clothes she held clutched to her chest, and that bright, intense glitter flickered to life in his eyes, making her realize with a sudden start that her robe was gaping a little. She quickly adjusted it, but not before his gaze lifted back to hers, the glitter in it getting brighter.

‘Have you made a decision?’ he asked abruptly.

The laundry room felt small all of a sudden, far too small, especially with him in it, taking up all the space. She was vulnerable dressed only in her robe, with him half-naked in front of her, blocking her exit.

Libby tried to get some moisture into her dry mouth. ‘Can we talk about this later? When I’m dressed?’

His attention drifted down her body once again, but slower this time, as if he was taking in every inch of her, and the blush in her cheeks deepened, prickles of heat chasing themselves over her skin. Did he feel this too? Is that what that look in his eyes meant? That bright, hot spark? Was it…desire?

She didn’t know where to look or what to say, so she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Did you wash and dry my clothes for me?’

Once again, his icy gaze flicked up to hers. ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they were wet.’

‘I mean, you don’t have a housekeeper to do those things for you?’

‘Not at the moment. I sent my staff away for the Christmas period.’

As she’d already suspected, they were here alone. So, why did that thought make her feel a strange sense of anticipation?

‘Well… I… Thank you.’ She clutched her clothing tighter. ‘I…appreciate that very much.’

‘It was no problem.’ His gaze was fixed to her face as if he found something fascinating there and it unnerved her. People didn’t usually pay such close attention to her. She never paid much close attention to herself, for that matter, not when there were so many other people who needed attention more than she did.

‘You will have to stay,’ he said suddenly. ‘I checked the forecast and more snow is predicted. Unfortunately, getting transport out of here will be difficult.’

A cold wave of surprise caught at her, chasing away the heat lurking under her skin. ‘What? You mean I’m stuck here?’