Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Reese
“ W ill you do me a favor?” Capri leans her head in the doorway of my office, a smile quirking her face.
“Absolutely.”
Here’s hoping she’s not about to ask me to fill in for one of the escorts, because that’s one area in which I lack any skill. Vander made damn sure of that—world’s most selfish lover, collecting women like trading cards and giving nothing back.
Unlike him, I don’t collect anyone.
Bad luck for me, I guess.
Capri sets a box on the edge of my desk. “Will you run that down to Griffin? He’s working at one of the cabins, repairing the irrigation pump housing. Normally I’d take it myself, but I’m late for a meeting.”
I don’t have a clue what an irrigation pump housing is, let alone how you’d repair it, but it sounds like contractor cowboy business to me. “Sure.” My fingers trace the edge of the box as I force a smile.
“It’s not any trouble?”
“Not at all.”
And it isn’t. Except for the fact that I’ve been avoiding the gorgeous cowboy for the last couple of days.
Not because of anything he’s done—quite the opposite.
It’s the way he makes me feel. Like my insides have turned into a hive of restless butterflies, wings beating harder every time I’m near him.
The way he looks at me, steady and unflinching. The way he says my name, like it tastes good in his mouth. The tone of his voice—low, warm—flips switches I’ve kept off for years.
Switches that cannot be turned back on.
Not for him.
Because he can’t be mine. Oh, he could be mine for a night—if I paid the price. But that’s all it would ever be.
And I know myself too well. I would want more.
Much more.
That want is dangerous. Sabine’s words still echo in my head: None of the women matter. The way she looked at the flowers, dismissing them as if they were nothing, dismissing me as if I were nothing. And God, what if she’s right? What if I’m reading too much into every glance, every word?
Because I’ve been wrong before. I thought I knew Vander. I thought I could trust him. And I was so very, very wrong.
So I choose avoidance of the stunning, soulful cowboy. Distance is safer than hope.
Guess that ends today.
I take a deep breath and grab the box, casting a quick glance in the mirror by the door.
At least I look like myself again. Color in my cheeks, a little light in my eyes. As my mother would say, there’s life in the old girl yet.
The heat hits like a fist when I step outside.
I’m still adjusting to these weather swings—blistering hot during the day, cool at night.
Blame that for my hermit routine; easier to stay in my room, binge rom-coms, and watch other people get their happy endings while mine’s still decidedly up in the air.
The dirt trail winds through the woods toward the guest cabins. And then I see him.
Griffin. Shirtless. Muscles gleaming with sweat as he bends over a sawhorse, dark curls damp under his hat.
I clutch the box tighter. My heart’s pounding louder than his saw.
“Sweet Jesus.” I swear, I mean for the words to stay inside my skull. Seems my mouth has other ideas.
He straightens, kills the power, and turns to me with his easy smile.
“Hey, belleza. What are you doing down here?”
Kill me now. Did he hear that? Of course, he did.
I force my feet forward, my words tripping over themselves. “Capri asked me to bring you this.” I thrust the box at him like it’s radioactive.
His fingers brush mine—barely a graze—and heat skitters up my arm.
“Thanks. About damn time this arrived.” He flips the lid, nodding at the contents, then glances back at me. “So, how are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Jamming my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “Hot out today.”
Smooth, Reese. Truly captivating conversation.
“That’s an understatement.” He swipes his forehead with his hat. “It’s practically nuclear out here.”
“Yeah. You must be… hot.”
He arches his brows at my second-grade vocabulary. “Yep.”
The universe could drop me into a sinkhole right now, and I’d be grateful.
Because the truth? I cannot handle this man half-naked. All that sweat is doing things. Illegal things. He wasn’t kidding about the eight-pack—physics should file a complaint.
“I should’ve brought you water,” I blurt, thrusting mine toward him. “I only took a couple of sips. Don’t worry, I don’t have anything contagious.”
His dimples deepen. “I wasn’t worried.” He tips the bottle back, drains it in one go, then runs a hand through his curls, lifting his arms and flexing every muscle I’m trying not to ogle.
Oh, great. Now he’s caught me staring.
“You okay over there?”
“Fine,” I squeak. “It’s just—oh my God, you actually have an eight-pack. I was joking when I said that. Plus, you’ve got that—never mind.”
His grin sharpens. “No way I’m letting that go. What do I have?”
“That V that makes women lose their minds.”
He gestures lazily at his torso. “You mean this?”
“You know I do.”
“Seems your mind’s still working fine.” He tips his head, eyes glinting. “So, are you immune to me?”
I nearly choke. “Trust me, I’m not.”
The smirk that slides across his mouth makes my knees wobble. He knows. Oh, he knows.
“Yeah?” His gaze drifts over me, slow and deliberate. “I was starting to wonder if I’d lost my touch. But maybe not, since you look a little distracted.”
Distracted? Try clinically brain-dead.
He’s caught me fair and square. See, universe? This is why I stay squirreled away in the safety of my room.
To avoid seeing this drop-dead delicious hunk of a man in front of me.
Dear God, is an orgasm possible simply by looking at him?
Note to self: do not ask that question aloud.
Instead of pretending I possess an ounce of feminine wiles, my sense of humor leaps in to save me from complete combustion.
“I can hold a conversation with CEOs and minor royalty without breaking a sweat,” I mutter, half to myself. “But one shirtless cowboy and every brain cell I own just bail on me.”
His laugh is low and warm, and the fire in his eyes says I just made things a thousand times worse.
I groan, tipping my face toward the sky. Might as well let it all hang out. “This is unfair. You shouldn’t be allowed to look that good and expect me to string sentences together.”
Griffin chuckles, dimples flashing. “So you’re saying it’s my fault?”
“Yes,” I shoot back, heat rising in my cheeks. “One hundred percent your fault.”
“I have two questions for you.”
Oh shit, he’s moving closer. There is no way I can handle him any closer to my sex-starved self.
I might lick him or something equally disastrous.
“What?” I stammer, planting a hand on my hip.
He stops directly in front of me, so close I can smell the musky scent rising from his slick skin. So close I can see each individual hair peppering his chest. So close that—nope, I will not allow my gaze to travel further south than that.
Griffin grabs my hands, his skin rough and hot against mine. “First question—do all cowboys fluster you like this? Because I wouldn’t like that.” His mouth dips to my ear, breath skating over my skin. “At all.”
I want to lie. Play it off.
So. Not. Happening.
I’ve already made a total ass of myself, and I’m hardly the first woman to drool over him. He’s used to this. Probably enjoying the hell out of it. Why not give his ego another notch?
“N-nope.” My gaze darts everywhere but his face—the saw, the trees, the damn dirt trail. “Just you.”
He catches my chin with two fingers and tilts my face back until I’m drowning in those blue eyes. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his mouth. Lazy and oh so lethal. “Good.”
I’m going to implode. Right here. Right now. Can he feel that? Can he sense it radiating off me like a neon sign?
I swallow hard. “What’s the second question?”
Instead of answering, he lifts my hand, turning it over to press his mouth to the inside of my wrist. His teeth graze lightly, a teasing bite, before his lips drag an achingly slow path up my forearm.
A broken sound escapes me, embarrassingly loud in the hush of the trees.
Griffin pulls back just enough to grin, the devil incarnate, heat written all over his face. “The second question was… would you like me to put my shirt back on?”
“Definitely not,” I blurt out, the words flying from my lips before my brain can stop them. “Because it’s so hot out.”
There I go, displaying my extensive conversational skills again.
Can I curl up and die now?
Griffin leans back against the sawhorse, arms folding casually behind his head. Except it’s not casual at all. His chest flexes, shoulders broadening, every muscle on display. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
That bastard.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.
A devilish grin curves across his face. “Every second.”
“You enjoy my ogling you?”
“Oh yes,” he says without hesitation. “Especially since I ogle you too.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh, waving him off. “Sure you do.”
His expression intensifies as he stands, closing the space between us until we’re toe to toe.
“Want to bet? It’s not just your smile, belleza.” His voice drops. “It’s the way you tug on your lower lip when you’re nervous.”
My breath snags as he grazes the curve of my mouth, slow and deliberate.
“You’ve got a hell of a mouth. Perfect shape. So damn kissable.”
But he doesn’t kiss on the mouth. Ever.
I’m frozen, every nerve ending on high alert.
“And here.” His hand shifts upward, brushing the curve of my neck, his fingers skimming the tender skin at my nape. “Just begging to be kissed.”
A shiver shoots down my spine. I might combust right there on the dirt path.
His hand slides lower, finding the small of my back. His thumb presses just above my waistband. “And these,” he murmurs, voice feral now, “the little dimples right here. You don’t know what they do to me.”
Hold the hell up.
Dimples? On my ass? Thirty-seven years in this body, and no one has ever mentioned dimples back there. Was I supposed to get a manual for that?
I crane my neck like an idiot, as if I can check for myself. “I have dimples above my ass?”
He chuckles low, thumb grazing the spot again. “Trust me. It’s a good thing.”
The air between us sizzles. My cheeks flame hotter than the midday sun. “Wait a minute. Were you staring at my ass?”
“All the time.” His gaze darkens, a flicker of satisfaction sparking there. “I ogle you too. Makes me feel good to know you’re returning the favor.”
Before I can form a comeback, he turns, grabs the handle of a water jug sitting nearby, and tips it over his head. Cold streams run down his chest, over his stomach, soaking into his waistband.
Holy. God. Almighty.
I whip my gaze toward the trees, but it’s too late—every inch of him is branded into my brain.
“Are you coming tonight?” His voice is casual, like he didn’t just detonate every nerve in my body.
“Huh?” I squeak.
“The local bar. I’m playing. Hope you’ll be there.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Piper says I need to get a social life.” I scramble for composure, clutching the hem of my shirt like it might anchor me. “So, yeah. I’ll be there.”
His lips hitch into a knowing grin. “Are you going to stop avoiding me?”
Warmth shoots straight up into my face. Busted.
How the hell does he know? This cowboy might be a mind reader, on top of everything else.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lie, too fast.
He smirks, eyes glinting like he’s already won. “Yeah, you were. But that’s going to change tonight.”