Chapter 21
SYLVIE
“Ready to get those trees?” I asked Kent.
I was feeling just a little hot and bothered.
The man kept ogling me. There was no shame in his game.
He made it clear what he wanted—me. I didn’t know how to feel about that.
I didn’t want to just be a piece of ass, pardon my own French.
But I also didn’t want to miss the chance of getting to experience something amazing with him.
It was a dangerous game I was playing. I knew it but every heated look sent my way was quickly chipping away at my resolve to keep him at an arm’s length.
“Let me grab my gloves,” he said.
I cocked my head. “Did you need to borrow some?”
He grinned. “Nope. Got my own. I had a feeling there was more manual labor in my future. I ordered a few things.”
Stacy scoffed. “A few things? The poor UPS man had to make two trips.”
I frowned and looked at Kent for explanation.
“I only brought enough clothes for a couple days,” he said. “I realized I was going to need a little more. I ordered some things. Jeans. Sweaters. Gloves.”
I smiled. “Alright, then.”
He disappeared, leaving me alone with Stacy. I was still grinning until I saw her watching me. “What?” I asked.
She slowly shook her head. “What was that about?”
“What?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m married, not blind. There is definitely something happening there.”
I wasn’t going to tell her about the kiss. Not yet. I felt like that was something to keep to myself. I played it off. “He’s bored. He wants to help.”
“He wants to fu—” She stopped herself. “He wants you under him. In his bed. Your bed. Hell, with the way he was looking at you, right here on the damn floor.”
And for some stupid reason that didn’t bother me at all.
“I think you’re seeing something that isn’t there,” I said.
“Again, I’m married, not dead. I know how these things start. You need to be careful with that one.”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen?”
“I think he wants to sleep with you.”
“And are you under the assumption I’m a virgin?” I asked.
She sighed. “You know what I’m saying. You aren’t that kind of girl. I know you. You get caught up. I’m just worried he’s going to hurt you.”
“As if that hasn’t happened before,” I said.
Footsteps stopped her from saying anything else. Kent returned wearing what appeared to be a new jacket and carrying new gloves.
“Ready,” he said.
I smiled at him and gave Stacy a warning look before leading him outside.
“Everything okay?” Kent asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Felt like I was walking into something back there.”
I waved a hand. “Nope. All good.”
Thirty minutes later, I was thinking Stacy might need to warn Kent about my intentions.
Watching Kent Bancroft haul Christmas trees from the farm up to the lodge was like watching a master class in how to make manual labor look effortlessly attractive.
I’d expected him to struggle. City boys usually did when faced with actual physical work.
They were all expensive gym memberships and designer workout clothes but no real experience with the kind of labor that involved dirt under your fingernails and sweat.
They weren’t used to working out anywhere except in a carefully controlled air-conditioned fitness center.
But Kent surprised me. He had more brute strength than I had anticipated.
More importantly, he knew how to use it properly.
Instead of trying to muscle the trees around with just his back like a rookie would, he put his legs into it, using his whole body efficiently.
He hoisted a full-sized Fraser fir up onto his shoulders and carried it like a lumberjack who’d been born to the work.
A lumberjack I desperately wished I could climb like a tree.
The December air was cold enough to turn our breath into white clouds, but Kent was generating so much heat from the exertion that steam actually rose from his body.
He had taken off his new coat and was wearing a black henley that was just a tiny bit tight.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest in ways that made it impossible not to notice the outline of his abdominal muscles.
Lord have mercy, he was ripped.
I’d been hoping he would roll up his sleeves so I could get a proper look at his forearms. I had a thing about forearms—always had—and from what I could see beneath the fabric of his shirt, Kent’s were going to be spectacular.
His hands were definitely spectacular. Large and capable, with long fingers that handled the trees with surprising gentleness despite their obvious strength. Which naturally led my mind to wonder about other things that might be large and impressive that I couldn’t currently see.
I had to mentally slap myself and refocus on my own work multiple times throughout the afternoon.
This was dangerous territory. Kent Bancroft was the last man I should be attracted to. Not only was he a walking red flag, wealthy, charming, probably used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, but he was also potentially my family’s only get-out-of-jail-free card.
Without his family’s investment, the farm would go belly up.
If I got romantically entangled with him and things went sideways, what was stopping him from just picking some other rundown farm in some other middle-of-nowhere small town?
There had to be dozens of struggling family businesses that would jump at the chance for Bancroft money.
But knowing all of that didn’t stop me from watching the flex of his shoulders as he lifted another tree, or the way his jeans hugged his backside as he climbed the porch steps.
I was loading a smaller tree onto a sled with Brom’s help, planning to drag it up to the lodge, when I realized I’d been staring at Kent’s butt.
Brom cleared his throat.
My head snapped up, heat flooding my cheeks. “What? I wasn’t looking.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Brom replied, clearly amused by my defensive reaction. “But for what it’s worth, he’s been staring at you too. So much so that I’ve been thinking about having words with him about it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said quickly, mortified at the thought of my big brother confronting Kent about checking me out.
“You’re my baby sister,” Brom said, watching Kent drag another tree up the porch steps with easy efficiency. “He’s a hotshot billionaire from the big city. Sue me for having your best interests at heart.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know you’re my little sister and it’s very awkward watching this play out in front of me.”
“Like I don’t watch you and Stacy kissing and touching and whispering,” I replied.
He paused, studying Kent’s form as he positioned the tree against the porch railing. “Stacy doesn’t trust him.”
“Stacy doesn’t trust anyone who isn’t blood-related to us,” I pointed out.
“Fair enough,” Brom conceded. “Just keep your wits about you, sis. This guy might be all hot and saying the right things now, but that doesn’t mean you should let him mess with your head. Got it?”
I nodded, trying to look appropriately chastened. “Got it. Loud and clear.”
But even as I agreed with Brom’s warnings, I couldn’t help stealing another glance at Kent. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The simple gesture managed to be incredibly sexy. I found myself wondering what it would feel like to trace that same path with my fingertips.
We worked through the afternoon, creating an impressive collection of trees on the front porch of the lodge.
Some were destined for the main hall where the party would take place and others would go in the library and dining room.
A few of the smaller ones would be placed throughout the guest areas to add to the festive atmosphere.
By the time we’d hauled the last tree up from the farm, the sun was already starting to set behind the mountains, casting everything in that magical golden light that made even the most ordinary winter day look like Christmas.
Kent stood at the bottom of the porch steps, hands on his hips, surveying our accomplishment. His hair was tousled from the work, his cheeks were flushed from the cold and exertion, and his shirt was damp with sweat despite the freezing temperature.
He looked absolutely gorgeous. And completely exhausted.
“Well,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the fact that I was fighting the urge to drag him inside and have my way with him. “I guess it’s time to start decorating.”
Kent’s shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment I thought he might actually groan out loud. “All fifteen of them?”
“All fifteen of them,” I confirmed cheerfully. “The party is tomorrow night, remember? These trees need to look spectacular.”
To his credit, Kent just nodded and pushed himself away from the porch railing. “Alright then. Where do we start?”
“Storage shed,” I said.
He nodded. “Actually, I need a drink first.”
“Of course. Come on.”
We went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple cans of cold soda. I watched as his throat worked, downing the sugary drink. I must have it bad because everything little thing he does is turning me on. He put the can on the counter and wiped his mouth.
“You don’t have to,” I blurted out. “Help, I mean. You’re here on vacation and we’re working you way too hard.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “What else am I going to do?”
We finished our drinks and headed out back.
I found myself stealing sideways glances at Kent.
Despite his obvious fatigue, there was something energizing about working alongside him.
He didn’t complain about the physical labor, didn’t act like manual work was beneath him.
He seemed genuinely interested in making sure everything was done right.
It was attractive in a way that had nothing to do with his impressive physique and everything to do with his character.