Free In Good Hands With My Dad's Best Friend (BBW Contemporary Medical Taboo Romance) by Ava May Page A

bragging, but stating a fact.
    "There. Better." He touched the flame to the wick, illuminating his face fully.
    Oh dear.
    Mathew was hot. Sculpted cheekbones highlighted a rugged face, the kind that had seen plenty of sun, ocean, and joy. Laugh lines framed his eyes and mouth. A mouth that now turned up into a knowing grin and eyes that watched her watching him. He put the candleholder on the table.
    "Step close, into the light. Let me look at you."
    She did, glad for the shadows that hid a blush she felt creeping up her face.
    "Pretty Sara, all grown up. You look a lot different from your pictures."
    She shuffled her feet. "I quit sending him pictures after high school. And he never asked for any."
    "He should have."
    Enough of this scrutiny. "I'll find you some clothes and bring them to the Blue Room. There are towels in the bathroom."
    She turned and headed to the staircase, his gaze like a warm ray of sun on her back.
     

Chapter 2
    Mathew Stephens. Sara racked her brain as she headed to the master bedroom. Had she ever heard Doug mention this guy before? Probably not, since they rarely discussed anything personal. A real estate investment project? Her father hadn't mentioned that either. She stuck the flashlight in her mouth and dug through his chest of drawers, where she thought he might keep his workout clothes. There. A loose pair of sweat pants and a workout shirt. Hopefully they would fit her visitor.
    A shiver crept along her spine as she thought of the view she'd already had of Mathew's body. Nice. Even in the dim light she'd seen he was well built. Long, muscular legs, a solid torso. He looked younger than her dad. For just a moment, she allowed the vision of his smiling face and the sound of his husky voice to bring warmth to her heart. This guy seemed like fun. He called her pretty.
    But so had Kyle, once upon a time.
    Shaking her head to keep the memories away, she went down the hall to the Blue Room, named for the hideous turquoise paint on the walls. This house was so big, they had to have some way to keep track of all the rooms. Opening the door to the bedroom, the scent of pine and something citrusy, orange maybe, came wafting her way. Must be Mathew's soap, or shampoo. The door to the bathroom was cracked slightly and a mist of steam rolled out. She walked in quietly and set the clothes on the bed. Was that singing she heard?
    This guy was a little too cheerful. She'd be crabby as all hell if her car got a flat, she had to walk a quarter of a mile, and then got interrogated on a porch. While wet and cold. Descending the stairs, she allowed a small smile. This evening might be more interesting than she'd planned.
    At the fireplace, she wadded up newspapers and gathered sticks of kindling. It had been a long while since she'd built a fire, but she recalled the basics. A few small logs on top of the tinder, then larger ones once it caught.
    "You must have been a Girl Scout."
    Sara whirled around to see Mathew leaning on the wall, watching her. Orange, definitely. He smelled like orange. And looked like a Greek god. His legs seemed even longer in the tight pants, and the shirt clung to his torso, showing muscles that took a bit of work to achieve. So he was a vain, rich guy. Even worse than just plain rich. His mouth curved into a slow smile, like he knew the effect he had on her racing heart. Thankful again for the low light to hide her pink cheeks, she turned back to her task.
    "No, not a Girl Scout. But I know how to build a fire."
    "I'd be happy to take over there, if you'll hunt up some food. I'm starving."
    As if on cue, her own stomach rumbled. "Me too. I think there's a few slices of pizza left. If you don't mind it cold."
    "That sounds delicious. I lived on cold pizza in college. Any chance there'd be a beer to go with that?"
    Happy to escape to the kitchen, she grabbed the box of pizza and a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She hoped pale ale worked for him. Mathew didn't seem like the picky