‘‘I got nothing to say.’’ Because Grace was in the house now and he couldn’t imagine her pressing her nose to the window, he pulled off his shirt.

‘‘It’s her voice that always got me.’’

‘‘Huh?’’

‘‘That throaty sound,’’ Phillip continued, pleased to be able to rile Ethan about something. ‘‘Low and smooth and sexy.’’

Gritting his teeth, Ethan pried off his work boots. ‘‘Maybe you shouldn’t listen so hard.’’

‘‘What can I do? Can I help it if I have perfect hearing? Perfect eyesight, too,’’ he added, judging the distance between them. ‘‘And as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong with the rest of her either. Her mouth’s particularly attractive. Full, shapely, unpainted. Looks tasty to me.’’

Ethan took two slow breaths as he tugged off his jeans. ‘‘Are you trying to irritate me?’’

‘‘I’m giving it my best shot.’’

Ethan stood, gauged his man. ‘‘You want to go in head-first, or feetfirst?’’

Pleased, Phillip grinned. ‘‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’’

Both waited a beat, then charged, grappled. And with Seth’s rousing cheers ringing, wrestled each other into the water.

Oh, my, Grace thought with her nose pressed up against the window. Oh, my. If she’d ever seen two more impressive examples of the male form, she couldn’t say when. She’d only intended to sneak a quick glance. Really. Just one innocent little peek. But then Ethan had peeled off his shirt and . . .

Well, damn it, she wasn’t a saint. And what harm did it do to anyone just to look?

He was just so beautiful, inside and out. And God, if she could get her hands on him again for just five minutes, she thought she could die a happy woman. Maybe she could, since he wasn’t indifferent—the way she’d always assumed he was.

There’d been nothing indifferent in the way his mouth had crushed down on hers, or the way his hands had rushed over her.

Stop, she ordered herself and stepped back from the window. The only thing she was going to accomplish this way was to get herself all worked up. She knew how to channel her more intimate needs, and that was to work until they passed away again.

But if her mind wasn’t completely on her chicken, who could blame her?

• • •

SHE HAD THE POTATOES cooling for the salad and the chicken frying when Phillip came back in. Gone was the image of the sweaty laborer. In its place was the smooth, the gilded, the casually sophisticated. He winked at her. ‘‘Smells like heaven in here.’’

‘‘I made extra so you can have it for lunch tomorrow. You just put those clothes in the laundry room, and I’ll see to them in a minute.’’

‘‘I don’t know what we’d do without you around here.’’