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I drop onto the beige sofa in the small living room and pick up one of the throw pillows. Navy striped with thinner gray stripes in between. “I like my space. And I don’t want to be treated like a guest. I want a break from all the fancy shit in my life.”
She walks over and sits on the leather chair next to a small brick fireplace, then pushes a button to turn on the gas flame. “Hmm, you may be the first person to show up at Buttercup Hill who didn’t want to be treated like a guest. I’m not sure what to do with that.” She taps a finger against her plush bottom lip, and I feel a twinge in my chest at the thought of my finger touching her there. I’ll never do it, but I can let my mind wander without getting myself into trouble. No harm, no foul.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
If an eye roll had a sound, it would be the huff of dismissive breath and the stomp of PJ’s feet out of the cottage and over the gravel outside.
I peer out to see her walk back to her car and return a few moments later, struggling to carry a large box.
“Here, let me help.” I walk outside and try to take the box from her, but she holds onto it as though I plan to make off with her most treasured possession.
I cross my arms, withdrawing my offer. “I’m not gonna fight you for it.”
Her eyes bore into me as though I might have an ulterior motive in offering to help. Does no one ever give her a hand without wanting something? Guess I’m preaching to the choir on that one.
Finally, she mutters a thank-you, and we carry the box together to her front door. It’s fucking heavy, and I can barely fathom how she was managing it herself. Sheer force of will, apparently. Her stubbornness should be off-putting. I’ve fired people for being less mule-headed than her—it doesn’t work in a collaborative scientific environment. Yet, on her, it’s appealing. Goddamn sexy, if I’m honest.
“What the heck is this?” I ask. She shoots me a guarded look, eyes narrowed, bottom lip jutting out. I prepare for her to tell me it’s none of my business, which it isn’t. But I’m the kind ofinquisitive bastard who needs to understand everything about the world around me, so I take my chances.
“Shelves.”
“What kind of shelves?”
We’ve made it through her front door, which she managed to open with one hand while still holding her half of the box. She looks up at me, exasperated. “Do you always ask so many questions while holding a sixty-pound box?”
“Which you were trying to carry yourself. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” she spits out. When we get to where she seems happy in the living room, she indicates with a nod to put the box down. It’s the same room where I slept on the couch last night, and I see that she’s straightened the room up, so there are no signs of my presence. Pillows are fluffed. The fuzzy green blanket hangs off the arm of the couch.
Heaving a breath and wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, PJ looks flushed. Pretty. And a little tired. Her chest heaves gently, and she bites her bottom lip as she surveys the box. My dick twitches in my pants at the thought of what else I could do to bring out the same rumpled look in her.
“Bookshelves.”
“What?”
She points at the box. I’ve almost forgotten I asked her about the shelves.
“Cool. Do you have a lot more books besides the Shakespeare I saw?”
Her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip as though she’s trying to tame the string of curses she has planned for me. I want to hear them all, though, so I prod. “Ooh, books you don’t want anyone to know about? Lemme guess, bodice rippers?”
That does it.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You just assume because I’m female that I only read steamy novels?”
“I didn’t say they were steamy.”
“They’re not.” She bites her lip. “Mostly.”
“So tell me about them.”
“They’re mostly…” She pops her lips shut, and I see the hint of a smile. “I’ll make you a deal. If you feel like putting your physics knowledge to use building bookshelves with an Allen wrench, I’ll let you see all the books when we put them on the shelves.”
Peering at me skeptically with her hands on her hips, she probably expects me to be repelled by her suggestion.
“Sure, let’s do it.” I watch her mouth hang open.
She shakes her head. “Youwantto build bookshelves?”
