“Mr. Hinkle had a boat ride planned but the weather doesn’t seem to be cooperating.”

For the first time this morning I glance out the window to find gray clouds and rain drops peppering the surface of the swimming pool.

“If there’s anything you’d like me to set up, please let me know. It’s questionable if the firework show will still happen with the rain. It will likely be a last-minute decision.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to do,” Barrett replies. I feel his eyes on me, and I can’t not look at him. The second I do, I realize it was a horrible idea. Those intense hazel eyes are studying me. His lips turned up in a smirk. I watch those long fingers, the same ones that were wrapped around his erection in the shower, manipulate his spoon as he digs into the juicy flesh of the grapefruit. His mouth closes around the pink flesh and he groans in satisfaction. I nearly topple out of my chair.

My core clenches involuntarily.

Sweet Jesus. I’m in trouble.

* * *

Barrett must sense my stress because after breakfast he doesn’t make good on his threat of us finding something to do, but instead retreats to Fred’s home office to work. For once, I breathe a sigh of relief that all he does is work. That’s where I want his energy focused right now, instead of on me.

The rain continues to pour and I spend most of the morning reading a manuscript under a cozy blanket with Baxter curled up next to me. He seems exhausted from the activities of the morning. I can totally relate.

Having put enough time and distance between Barrett’s shower, I retreat upstairs to take mine.

I’m in and out in record time. I also lock the door because that seems to be a major factor in this issue we keep having with bathrooms and walking in on each other and self-induced orgasms.

I throw my hair in a top knot and put my t-shirt and shorts back on. Feeling refreshed, I return to the sitting room and my book. But I feel restless, so I peruse the cabinet of books and games. I settle on Scrabble because I’ve already played WordIt today and it’s the next best thing.

I set up the game board, place the tiles face down and mix them around.

I’ve never played Scrabble by myself before, but I’m sure I’ll manage. I’m deciding whether I want to play as two players alternating or just one when Barrett clears his throat behind me.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I know Barrett well enough by now to know that sometimes his questions come out as accusations even when he doesn’t mean it that way. Now being a perfect example.

“Playing Scrabble.”

“By yourself?”

“Do you want to play?” I ask.