There was only one real reason for his sudden affinity for this room: the vantage point from behind his desk gave him the best view into the window of his pool house’s kitchen. He only caught the briefest glimpse of those dark burgundy braids piled atop Taylor’s head when she passed in front of the window, but it was enough to ignite an explosion of flashbacks to the things they’d done to each other against that kitchen counter yesterday.

Jamar tossed the marker on the desk and ran both hands down his face. He was turning into a Peeping Tom. It didn’t matter that he was peeping on his own property.

He’d gone back and forth, questioning just what in the hell he’d been thinking to invite Taylor to live here. They weren’t under the same roof, but what difference did that make when it took him exactly thirty-eight seconds to walk from his living room to the pool house? Thirty-eight seconds to get to the place where she now slept, bathed, lived.

The fact that they were no longer trainer and client obliterated the one barrier that stood in the way of them being together. Really being together. Not just a one-time hookup or this pretend dating ruse they had going on. There was nothing stopping them from starting a real relationship.

Except Taylor didn’t seem to be interested in more than what had transpired between them in his pool house yesterday. She wanted him, but not in all the ways he wanted her. So he had to settle for sitting behind his desk and reminiscing about the way it felt to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he explored every inch of her mouth.

And wishing there could be more.

There couldn’t be more. Not right now. He knew that, just as he knew he could never be satisfied with those few rushed minutes he’d had with her yesterday. Why did he allow it to end so damn soon? Why hadn’t he carried her to the sofa and spent hours bringing her more pleasure than either of them could handle? Then spent even more hours whispering in her ear all the ways they could be perfect together if they gave themselves the chance.

The way she laughed at his jokes, even while claiming that she didn’t find them funny. The way she listened so intently when he talked about the most mundane things. That couldn’t be totally fake, could it? She had to feel something more for him than she was letting on.

Jamar’s phone chimed with Micah’s ringtone. The FaceTime app on his computer joined in a second later.