18. Summer #3
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas,” he says with a full-on smirk.
The no-getting-involved-with-your-coworker rule hums between us, taunting me.
His hand slips easily to the small of my back, and I get chill bumps down my arms. If I moved another inch, we’d be pressed together. The tension flooding my body is putting me into an adrenaline overload.
“Summer,” his voice rumbles.
“Huh? What?” I glance up at him.
“Are you going to take a picture?”
“Uh-huh.” I hold up the phone, then snap the shot.
Jaxon looks great—that’s no surprise. What I didn’t expect is how I look standing next to him. My face is glowing, and I look way too cozy next to him. His easy smile makes my knees weak, and I have to clear my throat so I don’t lose my mind.
“Not bad,” I say with a quick nod.
“Not bad?” he says. “That’s your money shot.”
“But I shouldn’t be in it. We need a shot of you now. With this.” I hurry toward the hay bale I set aside earlier, just to get some space. “Can you move that to the center?”
He looks at the bale, then at me. “Is this the farm equivalent of a…” He bites his lip. “Shirtless photo?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
He rubs his chin. “I saw a video once of a cowboy cooking dinner shirtless, cowboy hat on and everything.”
“It is not the same thing at all.” I shake my head, thinking he’s going to push back. Instead, he reaches for the hem of his shirt. “Because if that’s what you want—” He starts to pull it up a little.
“No!” I shove my hands into my hair. “Don’t you dare, Jaxon Chance.”
He’s smiling now, and I’m half furious that he’s teasing me. “I’ll keep the shirt on, then.” He strides over to the hay bale. “I can’t believe you want me to pose with this. The things I do for you.”
“It’s not for me,” I clarify. “It’s for the business. Think of all the brides who enjoy watching a man work.”
He bends down, grabs it, and lifts it in one effortless motion that makes it clear the weight is nothing for him.
I take the shot, but he doesn’t put the bale down. Instead, he holds it above his head like he’s bench-pressing it, then tries to balance it one-handed. It wobbles, then nearly falls before he catches it.
I take a few more pictures while he hams it up for the camera. He’s more comfortable being the center of attention than he lets on. I guess years of PR training have paid off.
“Okay,” I say, looking through the photos, which are gorgeous and funny and pure catnip for women. “I think I’ve got enough.”
He sets the bale down. “You’re not torturing me anymore?”
“Come on, you’re a professional athlete.” I point at him. “You’ve got this down.” He looks the part too—wearing dark jeans that show off his narrow waist and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
I flip through the photos. These are actually breathtaking. The scene behind him is blurry, while he stands in the foreground, stark and clear. It’s just a simple fact—this man was made to admire.
“Didn’t Larissa say we should be in several photos together?” he asks.
“We have one.” I slide the phone into my pocket.
“Pretty sure she meant more than that.” He walks toward me, never taking his eyes off me.
I take a few steps back, putting my hands up to protest. “Jaxon.”
“Larissa said we have to.”
“I don’t need to be in another picture.” The look on his face tells me he disagrees. “I’m really more of a behind-the-camera person, I’m not—”
Then he scoops me up, one arm under my knees and his other at my back. All at once, I’m looking at him like a bride being carried over a threshold. Except the threshold is an old barn door, and I’m in dirty cowboy boots and my hair is a disaster.
“What has gotten into you?” My laugh echoes inside the barn.
“It’s not for me. It’s for the business,” he says, repeating my own words back to me. “Think of all the brides who enjoy watching a man carry a woman.”
I pretend to be offended, but I can’t ignore how right his hands feel on my body. “I can’t believe you’re using my words against me.”
“You said them first,” he says, grinning now. “Take the picture.”
I hold my phone out and take the shot. Then another one because we’re both laughing now, and I can feel the deep rumble in his chest moving through my body.
He sets me down on my feet, and his hands don’t leave my waist. They flex against my sides, holding me close as I breathe him in. For a second, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let me go.
“One last shot.” He takes out his phone and brings his face close to mine so we’re both in the picture.
If I turned my face just a little, our lips would brush, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving in to the tension between us.
But if I do that, there’s no going back.
I might want this man, but I can’t have him.
If I let this happen, we’d only have to face the mess afterward.
But seeing our faces on screen, we look like two people who can’t get enough of each other. Two people who could be happy together if things were different. Brides are going to lose their minds over these photos. I just need to make sure I don’t lose mine.