Strokes At Midnight by Layla Pine

Author:Layla Pine [Pine, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Layla Pine Author
Published: 2023-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Laundry was the bane of my existence. Between my scrubs, which often needed more attention than just a quick go around in the washing machine, my leisure clothes, and my heavy-duty underwire bras, laundry was constant and annoying.

I’d just psyched myself up enough to go out and get the latest load off the clothesline before the sun went down and it got damp again, when there was a knock at the door.

“Well, hello there, Honey,” Levi greeted me, leaning against the doorframe, the long sleeves of his polo shirt rolled up, exposing the tattoos on his muscular forearms.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, wrenching my eyes from those lovely arms to focus on his face. “I didn’t … I wasn’t expecting you this afternoon!”

I opened the screen door and let him inside. He gripped me around the waist and pulled me against him, kissing me hard and fast. My legs quaked, and he pulled back, smirking at me and pressing his lips to my forehead.

“I hope I’m a good surprise,” he murmured against my skin. I shook my head, my lips tilting upwards.

“You’re always a good surprise, Levi. But I was just about to go and get my washing off the line.”

He straightened, heading down the hallway towards the back door. “Well, let me help you, and then I thought you could cue up that weird French show you keep talking about.”

I stumbled slightly. “You want to watch Emily in Paris with me?”

He flashed his sexy grin over his shoulder. “Honey, I’d watch paint dry if it meant I could do it sitting next to you.”

The squishy feeling in my chest that I seemed to get so often around Levi was back with a vengeance as he strode out to the line, not even needing to wind down the old Hills-Hoist to be able to easily reach my clothes. I flushed as he unpegged one of my work bras—the heaviest of heavy-duty underwear I owned. But he didn’t even comment, just folded it neatly—and correctly—and placed it into the basket.

“You … uh you don’t have to fold things for me, I can do that later,” I mumbled, heat lingering in my cheeks. Levi lifted that scarred eyebrow in my direction.

“Don’t you fold your washing as you get it off the line?” he asked, not a hint of irony in his tone. I blushed even redder.

“I … I usually just chuck it all in the basket and then fold it once I’m sitting in front of the TV,” I confessed. I didn’t tell him that could sometimes be two days after I got it off the line, and in the meantime, I would rummage through the crumpled clothes to find what I needed.

“Trust me, Honey, my way is so much better.” He eyed me up and down, then reached over and turned the rusty old crank on the Hills-Hoist until it was at a height where I could easily reach it, but he had to crouch to get under it.

I couldn’t help myself. I

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