Page 52 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

He didn't let go right away. His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs tracing an idle, devastating arc against her hip bones, and his gaze dropped to her face with the kind of quiet focus that made her feel studied, like he was piecing her together one detail at a time. It also made her feel seen, like really seen for exactly who she was—crazy parts and all.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

"I didn't know what to say. Or how to act," she admitted, fumbling with the words like a complete mess.

Boone's mouth curved—not a full smile but something more contained than that. "You're a disaster," he murmured, voice low and unhurried. "And I kind of love it."

He leaned just a little closer, enough that she could feel the heat of the summer’s day radiating off him. He wore his usual work clothes—faded jeans slung low on his hips, a well-worn , cotton tee that clung to every sharp line of his chest. Sunlight slanting through the window hit him just right, catching the angles of his jaw and the careless fall of his hair. He had that calm, dangerous energy that made her stomach tighten, her pulse spike, and her brain short-circuit.

She felt exposed and alive all at once—a dizzying cocktail of frustration, longing, and something deliciously reckless.

His voice dropped, brushing against her ear. "You don't have to hide from me."

"I'm not hiding," she said, though her voice wobbled. "I'm trying to act normal, which clearly isn't working."

"Normal?" His mouth twitched. "You're standing on a table singing Taylor Swift. I think we're past normal."

Her hands flew up, brushing her hair back like that would fix anything. "Fine. Maybe I'm distracted. Maybe I—" She stopped herself, acutely aware of how close he was and the insane chemical reaction still roaring through her body. She was also aware of how tender her breasts were and how her nipples were pressed against the thin lace of her bra.

Boone's gaze lowered—briefly. When his eyes came back up, they were darker than before.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I've been distracted by you too." His thumbs moved again, slow and seductive against her stomach. "Why didn't you tell me you broke up with Lewis?"

"When was I supposed to tell you? When you were yelling at me about the bunkhouse, or when you had your dick in your hand?"

One brow lifted slowly and a smirk pulled at his mouth like he was genuinely deciding if she'd just said that out loud.

"Wow. That's one way to phrase it." He let the tension hang between them like smoke. "Basically, you've been avoiding me because I'm a nightmare wrapped in leather chaps and hay?"

"Exactly," she said, voice pitched somewhere between laughter and exasperation. "You are a nightmare."

Vivi's chest heaved, every nerve in her body screaming at her to give in, to lean into the desire radiating off him and let the world fall away. His hands at her hips, his voice low and unhurried—it all made her mind go fuzzy. But she took a slow, forced breath and pushed back against the pull.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "We can't do this. I just got out of a three-year relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one and risk someone getting hurt. I won't be the reason anyone gets hurt, least of all me."

Something in Boone's expression shifted. The teasing in his eyes gave way to something quieter, something that made her chest ache in a different way. He let her go—not entirely, just enough to let her breathe—but the tension didn't leave the room. Neither did the sense that this conversation wasn't finished.

Boone dropped his hands and took a deliberate step back. Vivi immediately felt the space between them like a temperature drop. He moved to the table and looked down at the stacks of papers spread across it. "What's all of this?"

"Work," she said brightly, grateful for the subject change.

"Looks like you're building a rocket ship out of feelings and fluff." He picked up a sticky note, squinting at it. "So this is what modern matchmaking looks like? Bios and bullet points?"

"It's called client prep, Cowboy."

"You're basically polishing up a used car and hoping no one checks under the hood."

Vivi laughed. She'd known this was coming the first time he'd seen her laptop and squinted at it like it was a UFO.

She took a seat. "They're dating bios. People hire me to help them describe themselves in a way that doesn't sound like a job interview or a cry for help."

He crossed his arms. "So, lying but you make it romantic."

She looked up to glare properly and immediately regretted it because there he was—that smug, amused expression doing thoroughly ill-advised things to her stomach.

"It's not lying. It's emphasizing strengths. People undersell themselves all the time. They don't say what makes them great because they think it sounds like bragging."

"So you brag for them?"