What the hell was he thinking?

He’d just driven his new landlady to a meeting with a solicitor, which he assumed had something to do with the fact she was taking over the property he rented. The building was hers anyway, so why the fuck did he think he needed to help her along? She owned the shop and was now sleeping in his bed, and here he was ferrying her around the city. She should be arch enemy number one, to be avoided at all costs, not sitting on the back of his bike, with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the soft mounds of her tits pressing into his back. He’d been conscious of her body against his every single second of that ride, so much so, he’d struggled to concentrate on the road. And now here he was, hanging around, waiting for her.

Did he want her? The thought caused his cock to stir in his jeans. Fuck. Yes, the thought of tearing off that prim-and-proper white shirt to get his hands on the curvy tits beneath was enough to get him hard. He’d never had an American woman before.  A couple of Australian’s, and a blonde, crazy Canadian girl once, but never American. It wasn’t just about getting some foreign pussy, though. Something about her beguiled him, fascinated him. There was more to her than the big dark eyes and stupidly kissable mouth. Her size made a protectiveness towards her rise up inside him, even though he knew she was a fully-grown woman who not only owned property but who had travelled half way across the world alone.

He couldn’t touch her, even if she let him. Things were already messy, and he didn’t need for it to get messier. Besides, he’d clocked the way she’d been looking at him, and the bike, as though she was worried he might do something crazy at any moment. That look had softened occasionally—like last night, when she’d found his sketch pad, or just then when she’d been in a bit of a daze after getting off the bike. He loved the way she’d looked at him in those moments, as though they’d shared a secret no one else knew.

Within half an hour, she emerged from the building, trotting down the steps in her heeled boots, her dark hair swinging down her back. She clutched paperwork to her chest, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her. She noticed him and returned the expression, though something about it looked forced.

His stomach turned over uneasily. It was stupid him being here, waiting for her.  She was so conservative. She probably looked at him and saw a total hooligan.

Art had never had any trouble picking up women he’d wanted in the past, but he’d always got different vibes from those women than he did from Tess. They’d openly flirted, pressing themselves up against him, touching him whenever they could, on the arm or leg, or finding excuses to hug him. Getting into their knickers had been as easy as grabbing them and kissing them—they’d never needed to do any dancing around each other. But he didn’t feel he could do that with Tess. Was it that she was his landlady, and they had business between them?

He didn’t know, but he knew he fancied her, even if fucking her was out of the question. He’d have to be content with his fantasies of what her tits looked like beneath that buttoned up white shirt, and how tight and hot her pussy would feel if he pushed his dick inside her. Art squeezed his eyes shut and glanced away, trying to dispel the images flooding his brain and causing his cock to harden further. He had to stop thinking about her that way. She was his landlady. Nothing more.

Tess came to a stop beside the bike. “I told you that you didn’t need to wait.”

He shrugged. “I know. You getting on, or what?”

She pressed a smile between her lips. “I had to sign the lease contract—the one you’ve already signed.”

He eyed her curiously. “Yeah, so?”

“You had to write your full name beneath your signature.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “And?”

“Your name isn’t really Art, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It’s Arthur,” she filled in with delight. “Arthur Fletcher. You have a seriously old-fashioned, British name.”

He smirked. “Yeah, it is. But don’t go around telling everyone. You’ll ruin my street cred.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” she said, slipping onto the bike behind him.

He liked the idea of them having a secret.