Page 5 of Working for Him

The worker freezes, then carefully redistributes his weight, finding solid ground. He straightens, looking sheepish, and gives me a thumbs up.

My heart's still pounding when I turn back to Caleb. He's staring at me, something intense and unreadable burning in his eyes.

"Thank you," he says, and the words come out rougher than I think he intended.

"That's literally my job," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline still flooding my system.

He steps closer, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. "Doesn't mean I won't appreciate it."

The world narrows again, the site noise fading into background static. We're standing too close, close enough to smell coffee and whatever he showered with this morning that makes my brain short-circuit.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and this time he lingers. My breath catches audibly, and I watch his pupils dilate in response.

This is dangerous. This is exactly what I swore I would never do.

"I should finish my walk-through," I manage, proud of how steady I sound.

"Yeah," he agrees, but he doesn't step back. "You should."

Neither of us moves.

It's me who breaks first, stepping away before I do something phenomenally stupid like close the remaining distance between us and find out if his mouth is as firm as it looks.

"You'll get my report by end of day," I say.

"I'll be here." His voice follows me as I turn away, wrapping around me like a promise I didn't ask for.

I force myself to walk at a normal pace, to not look back, but focus on the uneven ground, the equipment placements and literally anything other than the way my entire body is still humming with awareness.

This is a bad idea.

I know it the same way I know when a load-bearing wall is under too much stress, when pressure's building somewhere invisible until something has to give.

And I've got the deeply unsettling feeling that if I'm not careful, it's going to be me.

CHAPTER 2

Caleb

Iwatch her walk away, and I can’t help but notice the sway of her hips that has nothing to do with seduction and everything to do with self-confidence. My hands are still curled into fists at my sides from the adrenaline of watching one of my guys nearly go down. Except my pulse isn't racing about the near miss anymore. If I’m truthful it hasn't been for a while.

This is a bad idea.

I know it the same way I know when a beam's under too much stress, when pressure's building somewhere invisible until something has to give. I can read the signs. I've built my entire adult life on choosing the smart thing over the satisfying thing, on logic over want, and every instinct I've got is telling me the smart thing right now is distance.

I don't move toward distance. I go back to work instead, because that's the other thing I've built my life on, and work is at least something I know how to control.

"Everything okay, boss?" Tommy asks, jogging up as I head for the trailer. "Saw the whole thing. She moved fast."

"She did."

"You good?" There's something too knowing in the way he says it, like he clocked more than the slip.

"Get back to the mixer, Tommy."

He goes, grinning, and I let it go because I don't have the energy to pretend I don't know exactly what that grin means.

I spend the rest of the morning doing the thing I'm good at, which is running a site instead of thinking about the woman currently walking its perimeter with a clipboard and an unfair amount of composure for someone who just stopped a man from going into a trench. Forms get checked. Rebar gets inspected. I sign off on things I've already signed off on twice because apparently my brain's decided quality control is more interesting than whatever else it's supposed to be doing.