Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

I laughed. “Lots. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

There was no reply.

* * *

The sound of draining bath water sent me bolting into the kitchen to finish warming the potato and leek soup.

I hadn’t been snooping.

I would never snoop.

Not me. No way.

It wasn’t my fault her diary was open on her coffee table (who uses paper diaries anymore?) or her Netflix account wasn’t password protected.

From my non-snooping, I learned she loved classic romances such Pride and Prejudice and had a standing date labelled ‘Dogs and Dots’ at one p.m. every Thursday afternoon.

I had no idea what that was but I kinda wanted to know.

I couldn’t help that I’d found those little things. After all, I’d been searching her apartment for a nice fluffy dressing gown to give her after the bath because I was a sweet, non-snooping man who’d invited himself back to her place with outward intentions of caring for her but inward intentions of sleeping with her.

Despite my good and bad thoughts, I’d failed on the dressing gown hunt. Turned out, she owned hardly any clothing and definitely not a nice snuggly robe. So, I’d had to settle for rummaging in her chest of drawers and found some fleece pyjama bottoms and a baggy t-shirt that had a forest background with a beaver crossing its arms. The slogan said: You got wood? I got an axe. Bedtime is sleepy time. No eager beaver here.

I’d snickered. Her sense of humour had infiltrated her wardrobe.

A woman after my heart.

Just so long as she truly doesn’t have an axe when I approach her with my wood.

After stirring the soup one last time, I grabbed the clothing I’d found, and placed myself right outside the bathroom door.

Three…

Two…

The door opened and a towel-draped water sprite greeted me. Holy shit, her skin was the colour of honey and her blonde curls were damp-dark. The short black towel she hugged around her curves gave me a great view of her long legs and pink painted toes.

She screamed, clutching her chest.

My eyes locked onto the small towel, begging it to fall.

Her hand swatted out, whacking me on the bicep. “Oh my God, what are you doing lurking in my corridor? You damn well gave me a heart attack!”

I laughed, swallowing the sudden lust and angling away my hips. “Nothing. Just waiting to give you these.” Shit, it was hard dragging my eyes away from the droplet rolling down her cleavage.

I handed her the clothing. “Didn’t want you to get cold. Figured you could get dressed in the bathroom where it’s muggy and hot.”

Her mouth fell open. “Who the hell are you?”

Holding out my hand, I grinned. “Suppose we’ve never been officially introduced. I did kinda barge in on you that day with Heineken and the awful emergency. I’m Ryder Joseph Carson. I like swimming and—”

She ignored my polite introduction, stealing the clothes instead. “Yes, I know your name. That wasn’t what I meant. I meant why are you doing this? I’m not your responsibility. Shoo already.”

“You’re right, you’re not my responsibility. But why should I not do this? Doesn’t the world need more charitable individuals?”

“Are you saying I’m a charity case?”

I jammed my hands in my jeans pockets. “Well…”