Page 94 of One Wild Wish

The fear of God shone on her face. “I haven’t seen anyone in safety glasses.”

“We haven’t started cutting wood yet. Face shield and respiratory mask, too.” I had no idea why I was messing with her. Maybe because she was primped and polished and reminded me of my ex, a master manipulator who wove tall tales for a living. I doubted this woman deserved to be toyed with, but I’d been raked over the coals for months. My bullshit-meter had reached its limit.

“When you show up,” I said, “no cuffs on pants or unbuttoned shirts. No jewelry at all. Safety comes first. We have hardhats and gloves, and you have to wear sturdy shoes.” I shot a look at her mile-high heels.

Her reply: “You’re kind of bossy.”

Instead of the same evil stare I got when I’d laughed at her expense, her gaze dipped down my body, slow and languid, soaking me in. Something in me twitched to life, like a phantom limb reminding me hot blood once pumped through my veins. All my veins. My groin got heavy, heat flushing my thighs. Because she looked at me.

I let that notion marinate and did my best to keep my brain on target. “Just giving you the lay of the land. And if you plan on volunteering tomorrow, or any day, show up at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Nick will take you through the paces.”

“Will you be here?”

“Possibly.”

“Are you here every day?”

“Some.”

“Do you often answer questions with one word?”

“Depends.”

She tipped her head, those beach-glass eyes intent upon me. Suddenly, heading home for beers and pizza didn’t sound as appealing. I dug my boots deeper into the earth.

She swiped her tongue across her full bottom lip. “All right, tough guy. I’ll be here next week. Where you may or may not be, depending on if you do or do not decide to show up. I’ll wear ugly clothes and get my gear, and maybe we’ll see each other again.”

Every word dripped with flirtatiousness, and I contemplated telling her I was messing around. That she only needed the face shield when working with flying debris. The way I’d all but grunted at her so far, probably better to keep my mouth shut.

So we stood there—her waiting on me to speak, a skateboarder barreling down the road at our left. Me unsure why she was affecting me.

I missed being with a woman. Missed the slide of soft skin and wet mouths, and locking my girl in my arms for the night. But I’d sworn I’d do it right this time. Not rush in. Make sure I dated someone with depth and interests outside of making bank. Everything about this spitfire girl read narcissistic.

When our silence slipped into awkward, she fluttered her fingers in my face. “It’s been…interesting.”

I offered her a curt nod.

Chuckling to herself, she spun around, but her right heel wedged into the loose dirt. Those damn shoes were lethal. She sank an inch and teetered, but seemed to catch herself. Then her massive purse fell. The thick strap landed on her forearm, tipping the balance. She shot out her hand, struggling to stay upright.

I lunged for her, clasping her trim waist to hold her steady. And close. Too close. Not near enough for her to feel how I was thickening behind my zipper, but the air swelled. It dilated with feminine scents. Something sweet. Nice.

She smelled like chocolate.

My hands spanned her waist from behind, her curves above and below all woman. Hour glass, like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. Jean Harlow. Mae West. Over the years, I’d watched every classic movie there was, wishing I could slip to a time when men danced and women sang and loyalty and love were valued over getting ahead. An old soul, my nana always said. Or a romantic. Or just plain trouble.

Now I had my hands on a dangerous beauty. I shouldn’t have been thinking about gripping her tighter or picturing my lips coasting over her jaw and down her neck. More began rising than my temperature. I noticed her foot then, the delicate sole having slipped out of her shoe, her toenails painted a soft pink.

Gripping my wrists for balance, she slid her shoe back on. “Thanks for the quick save.” She turned to face me, but I didn’t release her waist. “I’m Ainsley, by the way.”

No woman should have a voice that sexy, as husky as a lounge singer in a smoky room.

“I’m Owen.” My voice was nothing but rocks and gravel. Needing a breather, I stepped back. “Until next time.”

“Next time,” she replied.

She navigated the uneven ground cautiously, still managing to sway her full hips as she went. I turned and slapped my gloves against my thigh again, anything to busy my hands, distract my mind. Ease the blood flow to my groin. Going home solo was a bad idea. I’d either stew over Tessa’s latest antics, or I’d stroke myself to the image of this pinup girl in all her natural glory.

I stopped at my truck and pulled out my phone. Half a ring later, my brother picked up. “Fine. I’ll blow you. Get over here.”