Free The Toy Boy by April Vine Page B

when her body leaped into sexual hunger mode by the mere glimpse of him. He was twenty-four years old, and in case she didn’t fully understand the math, he was ten years younger than her. Ten big, wide, uncompromising years. A whole decade. 3,665 days younger, give or take a leap year or two.
    She padded into her kitchen and brewed a cup of chamomile tea, anything to soothe her frayed nerves. So he threw her off her guard by unfair surprise. No matter. From now she’ll just avoid the heck out of him. She blew cool air into her steamy cup and then took a sip. She could handle him. Of course she could. She was experienced, sophisticated, mature, outranking him in all ways, but especially in age—basically giving her the upper hand. Running out of the sex shop like a wimpy virgin did not bode well for her in the chic department and without her date for the night either, but she was adult enough to write it off without a second thought. There.
    Taking her cup to the bathroom, she filled the tub and added peach bath oil under the running faucet. She stripped and sunk her body into the silky water, prepared to wash away her disastrous excursion once and for all. The luxurious water teased her skin. She ran a hand over her breasts and immediately her nipples pulled taut. Tension rode up her thighs, all her nerves fluttered down to her stomach and lower, settling in an erotic heap smack on her clit. She leaned back, desperate to ease the residual lust lingering in her body. Her eyes drooped closed. A stark visual of Declan wearing nothing but that smug grin of his materialized before her eyes.
    Water sloshed over the sides of the porcelain bath as she shot up. She rubbed her temples, willing away his presence from her mind. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to a guy that much younger than her. What was this, some sort of pre-pre-midlife crisis?
    After Dean left her a year ago following a seemingly good engagement, she shut herself off from sexual frivolities, putting her work first and foremost. She’d left it for too long. If she came across any man mowing the lawn in a gleaming hot body, she’d want to jump his bones. Declan Meyer was merely at the right time at the right place in her head and just as easily removed from said time and place.
    She reached for her cup as her doorbell sounded. A heavy sigh sagged her shoulders further into the water. Could she pretend she wasn’t home on this Saturday morning? Damn, her car was parked outside and she couldn’t go anywhere without it. She waited a minute more, hoping her unwanted guest would give up. No such luck.
    She draped her body in a thick bathrobe and went to answer the door, brushing tendrils of wet hair out of her face as she did so. She swung the door open and stopped herself from slamming it shut again. Mrs. Meyer stood on her doorstep, a tray of cookies in her hands and a beaming smile on her face.
    “Hello, deary. I just baked an extra batch and wanted you to have some. They’re for the wedding tomorrow. Did I disturb your bath, honey?”
    “No … not at all. Thank you, Mrs. Meyer. I’m sure they’re delicious.” She grabbed the tray from the older woman’s hand and had every intention of wishing her good-bye. She couldn’t face her, not with her sex shop fiasco so close to memory.
    “Declan loves them. That boy eats like a horse, I tell you. God knows where he puts it all though. Ah, but it’s so good to have him visiting his old aunt.”
    Cait forced her mind to blank out the mention of his name. Already a deep flush set into her skin, and it wouldn’t be long before she crumbled in complete embarrassment in front of Mrs. Meyer. She had to get rid of her quickly. The instant her attention turned onto the street at an oncoming car, Cait started to say good-bye and had the door almost halfway closed already.
    “Oh, look, it’s Declan.”
    She didn’t mean to look, really. But who couldn’t when he drove one of those horrendously old-fashioned jeep