Page 8 of Tempted By the Mountain man

“What makes you say that?”

“The level of organization is almost over the top. It screams military.”

“You’ve seen this before then? On other job sites?” I fight to hide my grin, because I know she’ll have a hard time answering that question honestly.

I could just tell her I know the truth about her background and lack of qualifications to appraise antiques. It’s the fear that she’ll leave that keeps the truth safely locked away.

But dammit do I enjoy seeing her blush.

“This is really good bacon,” she says, shoveling a full piece in her mouth. Marty looks at her like he’s going to cry, so I toss him a chunk out of pity.

Nice dodge.

I let her get away with it, mostly because watching Jade continue to fake her way through a job she has no credentials for is entertaining me in ways I forgot were possible. This woman is unknowingly thawing layers of ice around my heart, and I don’t have the good sense to move away from the flame.

5

JADE

A hot shower never felt as wonderful as it did after an entire day digging through dusty boxes filled with junk, some less junky but still useless things, and a handful of surprisingly valuable antiques.

Thank God Grandma Charlotte came to my rescue, or I might’ve assigned the Meissen porcelain bird to the thrift store pile. I’d been secretly texting her pictures all day.

To my surprise, the summer I helped her shop for antiques had come in handy, too. I quickly remembered the most valuable rule she’d taught me: always turn an item upside down to search for a maker’s mark.

But perhaps the most surprising thing today was River.

I hadn’t expected him to be so involved in the process.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

The muscle was definitely the blessing. He spent most of the day traveling up and down stairs, hauling out trash to the dumpster he’d rented, loading his truck with the items destined for the thrift store, and moving the rarer, possibly valuable items to a smaller bedroom down the hall. I’d be here until next year if I had to carry everything myself.

But the curse?

Besides him nearly catching me consulting with my grandma on numerous occasions, he was a helluva distraction. I almost dropped a Flora Danica serving dish when he stripped off his flannel shirt. Grandma Charlotte would’ve disowned me for that one.

Did I have a teeny tiny crush on my employer? Maybe.

Did I allow a naked fantasy or two to play out in my overactive imagination while I was on the clock? Also, maybe.

It’s not my fault that Marty showed me the bedroom last night.

Dammit, I’m wet, and it has nothing to do with the shower I just took.

Would touching myself violate my don’t-sleep-with-my-boss rule? Technically no.

But would I be able to look River in the eyes tomorrow if I made myself come tonight picturing him with his face buried between my legs as I did? Also, no.

Frustrated, I decide the safest course of action is to redirect my dangerous lusty thoughts.

I reach for the phone on my nightstand, about to give Grandma Charlotte a call after texting with her all day. But a loud, boisterous moan catches me with my finger hovering over the call button.

“For crying out loud,” I groan.

Natasha promised me the sexcapades would be over before I wrapped up at the main house each day. Because things had been quiet when I first returned, I assumed Josh was passed out and Natasha was writing up a storm.

That assumption just got shot to hell.