Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
An hour and a half later, Alex stripped down in his private bathroom at the barn. Probably stupid to wash off the sweat and stink when Greer planned to put him to work all over again, but he needed to scrub away the bits of grass clinging to places on his body that had no business wearing grass.
The mirror over the sink was small, and Alex normally didn’t check himself out.
He damn well knew every mark on his body.
Every design Javier had painstakingly applied to his skin.
Now, he skimmed a hand over his left pec, feeling the cool metal against his palm.
Greer had seen his nipple ring under that tight T-shirt.
And from the way her eyes had widened and she’d touched her tongue to the corner of her lip, it had turned her on.
What would she think if she got an eyeful of the rest of him?
He slid his palm over the murder of seven crows on his stomach, grazed the jut of his hipbone, and circled his fist around his dick.
He’d been half hard since Greer walked into Raylene’s backyard.
Nah, since that stupid art class she’d dragged him to.
Fine, since he’d touched her hand the first time.
Didn’t take more than two strokes to turn a semi into a full-on.
Hell, if he was going to have to work side-by-side with her over the next few hours, inhaling her honeyed scent, it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of this thing.
He ripped aside the shower curtain and stepped inside the tight space. With quick, economical motions, he soaped up his body and rubbed his hands over his recently shaved head. Couple of swipes under his arms and a quick rinse, and he was done. He was the poster child for low maintenance.
But his cock was still pointing straight north. He grabbed the soap again, rotated it a couple times in his palm.
Grasping himself in a tight grip against his balls, he pulled his dick way from his body. Then he pumped in long, almost punishing strokes to the tip and back again. It only took a few times to shallow his breathing and loosen his knees, forcing him to brace a forearm against the shower wall.
A little removed from it all, he hung his head and watched his hand-fuck. Decent, and it would get him off. But the inside of his hand was a shitty substitute for the inside of Greer’s body. That he knew even though he hadn’t been between her thighs yet.
Yet.
He wanted her in that iron-framed bed out there. Pounding into her so hard the headboard knocked holes in the wall.
He wanted her up against a wall. Pinning her so she could only take what he would give her.
He wanted her bent over a chair. Sliding into her so slowly she begged for him to finish her.
The rhythm of his hand increased with every picture of Greer.
Her wild, dark hair tumbling over her bare skin, teasing his, tangling in the sweat between them.
Her legs spread, luring him to come closer, drawing him into the magic, the mystery between them.
Her arms open, waiting to hold him, to take him in, make him hers.
His balls clenched against his body, and his nerves squeezed off electrical impulses that shook his legs, tightened his belly, and hardened his nipples.
Just one more stroke, and he would—
A sudden knock beat at the bathroom door, and his hand automatically clamped down in surprise. Jesus, it was both painful and almost more pleasurable than he could take.
“Alex?” Greer called, sounding as though she’d pushed open the outer door to his room and was standing just outside the bathroom. “Wanted to let you know I’m here and ready anytime you are.”
He looked down at the monstrous chunk of wood in his left hand. Ready? Oh, he was more than ready. He pressed against the tile, trying to cool the hell off. “Just—” fucking voice crack, “—washing off the dirt.”
“You know it’s hot out here, right? Even with the big fans, you’ll work up a sweat again.”
Now, he knocked his head against the wall as well, rolling it back and forth, but every part of his body was still blistering. He needed Greer to go away for five minutes and let him finish jacking himself off.
“Alex?” she said, her tone changing from exasperated to concerned. “Are you okay? You didn’t cut yourself or anything, did you? If you need me to come in there and—”
“Don’t!” he barked. Jesus, that was all he needed. She’d rush in thinking he needed some kind of medical help, and he’d shove her down on the sink and fuck her like a madman.
When Alex strode down the stairs from the second-floor apartment, the scowl on his face could’ve frightened away a carjacker.
He’d known Greer wanted his help, so what was the deal?
Rather than confront him about his obvious pisser of a mood, she meandered toward the switch that controlled her three new industrial fans.
Maybe that would cool off whatever had sparked his temper. Because he’d certainly seemed happy enough to help Raylene. Why not her?
Freshly showered, he wore jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt. Even though he looked as if he could crunch down on an armadillo shell in one bite, he’d foregone the long sleeves.
Progress. They were making progress.
And she would pretend something hadn’t pissed him off between Sweetwater and the barn. “Hey,” she said, “you want to tackle the sink or the rest of the booths?”
Alex rubbed a hand over his face, and when it fell to his side, it was as if he’d rubbed away his pissy attitude. He even flashed her a tight smile. “I’ll take care of the sink and then help you with the rest. How does that sound?”
Sounded like a man who might be willing to listen to her proposition now. “Perfect.”
In a surprisingly short time, Alex returned to the main area of the barn with a wrench sticking out of his pocket. “Sink’s been conquered. And I adjusted the float on the toilet. Ten more flushes and the whole thing probably would’ve tanked.”
“Tanked. That’s funny, Villanueva. You do have a sense of humor.”
“Usually it’s not worth shit.”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
He looked around. “What’s left to do out here?”
“I’ve put up a few more booths, but I need to finish the rest and then set up tables. It’s hard to flip over those eight-footers by myself.” The booths weren’t fancy, but they were functional, basic conference-style set-up with pipe and drape. But the artists would each have a ten-by-twenty space.
“We’ll be done in plenty of time, then.” He held up the pipe she was threading a burlap-colored short curtain onto, allowing her to shove all the fabric on without bracing the metal between her knees.
Then, pretty as you please, he lowered it into place and secured it to the matching piece the first time.
Not ten like she’d done with the others.
Damn him.
In an easy silence, they worked their way around a third of the booths, assembling the dividers between them. But when they began to make their second pass, setting up a long, rectangular table in each, Greer knew it was time to ask.
Or forever hold her peace.
Like that had ever happened before.
“So,” she said, “I was wondering what you think about this whole artisan village concept?”
“Still think you’re spending a lot of time and money and energy on something you don’t have a clue will work.”
So much for all her warm, fuzzy feelings. Yeah, what was bubbling up inside her wasn’t hearts and flowers. Rather than jab him in a particularly soft spot, Greer released her hold on one end of a table, forcing him to shuffle and juggle to keep it from hitting the ground.
“What the hell?”
She strode over to the bag she’d dropped near the front door and withdrew a plastic folder stuffed with packets of paper meticulously organized with binder clips.
Then she headed back and slapped them down—one by one—on the table Alex had tipped upright.
“Market research.” Thwap. “Marketing plan.” Thwap. “Business plan.” Thwap.
She was reaching for another set when he reached out and stopped her. “Sorry. It’s not my place to tell you how to run your thing.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” She did a mental deep breath.
Because he wouldn’t want to sign on with someone who lost her shit that easily.
Problem was, his opinion mattered to her.
He was so damn talented. Had such an eye for detail and for beauty.
“But I asked you what you thought, and you told me. I shouldn’t slap at something I asked for. So you really think this is too risky?”
They moved on to the next booth, where Alex turned a table on its side and jerked out the metal legs until they popped into place. “I still can’t believe you pulled the idea of this contest out of your ass.”
“I prefer to say that I was inspired.”
“Spur of the moment.”
“Fine, I’ll cop to that.”
“Is that the way you always make decisions?”
“Do you want the truth or the story that’ll make you feel more comfortable?”
“I’ve faced an assload of uncomfortable truths, Greer. I don’t like to be bullshitted. Were you trying to jerk me around?”
Yeah, she shouldn’t have tried to manipulate him with the competition, but it had been a good idea and she wasn’t sorry she was hosting it.
This contest would bring her the best of the best. She propped her hands on the table behind her and boosted herself up to sit on its warm surface.
“No, that’s the last thing I meant to do.
I just knew if Delaney gave you the green light on the contract, you’d check out of Sweetwater and be gone. ”
“I have places I need to go, things I need to do, people I need to see.”
“Your family?”
“That’s not the point of this conversation.”
When, if ever, would he let her in? Right now, she’d take anything. Crumbs of Alex Villanueva.
“I want you to stay because you’re talented. Talented? Hell, Alex, you may be the most gifted artist I’ve ever met. And I know a lot of them.”
He angled his face down and away from her. False modesty? No, the man really didn’t acknowledge what he had inside him. Not only the sheer talent, but the muse that allowed him to create such amazing designs. Craft them into a wearable piece of art.
“I’m not bullshitting you.”
“Then why are you making me compete against the other toolers?”
Yeah, that. “I knew it would keep you in town for long enough for me to sell you on my idea.”
“What does it matter what I think about your artisan village?”
“It matters because I want you to be one of them.” She moved closer, not touching him but within his personal space. “Not only one of them, but something more. A resident artist.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I want you to work here, have a dedicated space. Some of the other artists will likely come for a week at a time, maybe even a month, but I want a few who’re permanent. Have them teach classes.”
He rubbed a hand over his head. If he’d had more than a shadow of hair on his scalp, he would’ve been shoving his fingers through it, which made her smile. Poor guy couldn’t even vent his frustration the normal way. “Prophecy isn’t exactly my kind of town.”
“What does that mean? This is a nice place with nice people and—”
“That’s the problem. It’s too nice.”
“How can a town be too nice?”
“I expect it to flash back to black and white at any time and turn into one of those 1950s TV shows, with two-parent-two-kid families strolling down Guadalupe Street.” He rolled a hand as if the cast of Leave it to Beaver were standing in front of them.
What normal person didn’t appreciate the charm of a small town? “And that’s bad?”
“It’s not the way the rest of the world works.”
“If it makes you feel any better, we’ve had a rash of hubcap thefts lately.”
“Jesus save you all.” He huffed out a laugh.
“Wait until yours get swiped. You might not be laughing.” But she didn’t even try to hold back her own smile.
“You’ve seen my car. I doubt I’m next on the list.”
True enough. “We’ve got problems—people out of work, single parents, a few backstabbers. Prophecy isn’t perfect.”
“I don’t even know how to live in a place like this.”
She wanted to swat him on the head for being so dense, but instead she tried to be patient. “Um…you seem to have done okay up to this point. You get along fine with Raylene. Talking with Delaney doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“I don’t do chitchat.”
“What do you call that lunch with Raylene’s friends?”
“Fiery hell.”
“Because they all sent their single female family members stalking you with casseroles and pies? Or because you’ve been living in the wilds of Montana so long that you don’t remember how to be a functioning member of society?”
“You make me sound like one of those extremists.” He jammed his hands on his hips, making his shirt sleeves ride up his biceps.
Greer clenched her hands around the table’s edge to keep from reaching out and tracing that sensuous serpent.
Because this wasn’t a time to show physical attraction.
It was a time for compassion. “People in a town this size hang out with one another, rely on one another. I think if you got to know a few people, you’d like it better.
” She snapped her fingers. “You know your problem? You’ve been surrounded by women since you got here.
I mean, hey, we’re stellar and all that.
But even a man who loves women can only stand so much of us. ”
“Don’t expect me to agree with that. It’s too damn dangerous.”
“You don’t have to because I know I’m right. What you need is some guy time.”
“Guy time.”
“Yeah, you know, beer, cards, and cigars. Or farts, belches, and butt scratches. Whatever makes you happy.”
“I’m more for the beer than the butt scratches.”
Even though she’d planned to keep her hands off him, affection welled up in her, and she couldn’t resist trailing her fingers over his cheek. “Then you just take a little time to think about my offer and I’ll handle your social life.”