She scooped the pile of old linens off the floor and headed down the hall. The whole ritual, stripping his bed, remaking it, felt oddly intimate. That he had slept in that bed. She knew from his laundry hamper that he didn’t wear pajamas. And no matter how hard she tried, her mind would go to the image of his long, lean, sun-kissed limbs lounging in the front doorway with an insolent smirk on his face. How she wished she didn’t know what he looked like without his clothes. Once seen, it was impossible to forget. His body reminded her of Michelangelo’s statue of David. She had seen it in Florence with her parents when she was twelve and curious. It was the first naked male body she had seen. It was magnificent. The marble seemed to breathe, to glow with an inner light as David paused for a second in that moment before a tremendous output of energy that would determine if he were to live or die.

Mick’s naked body framed in the doorway had reminded her of that work of art, but Mick’s sleek muscles were made of warm flesh and blood. At night, sometimes sleep would refuse to come and she’d find herself staring up into the darkness, her traitorous body heating with the knowledge that he was sprawled naked among his sheets. If she closed her eyes, she could almost taste the salt of his skin.

She hadn’t seen Mick since the night he’d had her come to his study to work on the script, but she would hear him arrive home. Watch the lights in the house flick on. She’d imagine him going into the kitchen, opening the fridge and cupboard doors, finding all the tasty options she had placed in there. In the morning, she’d listen to him depart again, the purr of his high-octane sports car. The man might present himself like a lowlife, but he was no slacker, she’d give him that. He worked incredibly long hours. When Sarah had accepted the post, she had expected a steady stream of disreputable people marching in and out of the house. But as far as she could observe, once Mick came home, he kept to himself. Although, she thought with a huff of laughter, it is Friday. Who knows what craziness the weekend will bring. And on the heels of that thought came a tiny flare of jealousy, which didn’t make any sense at all.