Page 19 of The Boxer’s Belle

So were the dark eyes roving over his form. He couldn’t resist flexing his biceps in that way he used to when they were young—the way that never failed to make her flush. Her gaze flicked to the movement, and her pink tongue darted between rose-colored lips—that hadn’t been affected.

Attraction had never been their problem, though—not that they were in a position to have a problem.

He cleared his throat. “How many do we need?”

“How many what?”

“Little signs.”

“Oh,” she said in a brisk tone. She halved the distance between them in a single step, then halved it again until she was right beside him. Long fingers dipped into the neck of her gown—bleeding hell—and pulled out a folded slip of parchment in a motion that would haunt him the rest of his days.

He bit his tongue against the growl that bubbled up his throat, regretting his position, now trapped against the doorframe.

She pressed the parchment into his hands—the paper still warm from her flesh. His cock twitched with interest. Apparently, his prick was entirely unaware that it was being manipulated. But he’d never been in control of that particular appendage in Bella’s presence.

Amber, spice, and citrus surrounded him. He allowed himself the luxury of drawing her scent into his lungs once more. The last time he’d been this close, had this privilege, the copper tang of blood overpowered her essence. That memory cooled his lust slightly.

He unfolded the parchment, hoping she wouldn’t notice the slight trembling of his fingers.

“She wants fourteen signs. Four larger for directions, three medium for events, and seven smaller—for the booths,” Bella said. She shifted on her feet, ensuring that the soft curve of her bosom brushed against his forearm.

West swallowed his response. “How big?”

She arched a brow and pointedly dropped her gaze to his waist then trailed it back up. “Not big enough.”

Other, lesser men might have taken offense at such an insinuation—those men had not witnessed how this breathtaking woman’s eyes had fluttered when she saw his cock for the first time—the only time. Her complaint aimed to rankle him, nothing more.

“Funny.”

“I thought so too.” Her smile was cheeky, a little studied, and entirely beautiful.

Still, she held her hands up about two feet apart and then out the length of her wingspan to demonstrate the size for the larger signs. West nodded and gathered the lumber, grateful that Ben had at least prepared the boards at some point. He spread a piece of wood across the sawhorses.

“Four of those?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll paint the directions if you risk your fingers.” She held out her hands, waggling her digits in an adorable demonstrative dance. He directed his smile toward the ground. Those moments were rare—when Bella forgot herself and just existed. He lived for them.

“I’m certain Eliza will thank you for it. Besides, you’re trouble enough with your hairpin. Cannot imagine what you could do with a saw.”

A queer expression crossed her face and her gaze dropped to the lumber between them. “My hairpin was a casualty of last spring.”

West’s chest gave an unexpected pang at the thought. He’d noticed the silver flash missing from her bronze waves. Hopeful, he’d attributed it to the notion that she no longer needed to defend herself in her own home.

To this day, that pin was the finest thing he’d ever purchased. He’d blushed and stammered when he presented it to her. That she’d used it to defend herself in a moment when he hadn’t been able to had always filled him with pride nearly equal to his fury with Draycott, the recipient of its blade and a permanent scar.

“I didn’t know⁠—”

“He took it from me—Draycott. Eliza stole it back but dropped it when she fled the fire.”

West swallowed. He wanted to purchase another for her, sharper and more deadly. Hell, he wanted to swear to her that all her bits and baubles could remain purely decorative and that his body would be the only defense she needed. But she would not value either sentiment.

“Do you want to learn to use the saw?” The question slipped unbidden from his lips as he bent to retrieve the saw.

Black lashes flicked up to meet his gaze, her expression filled with surprising sincerity.

Her lips quirked up, quick and bright, the lingering darkness vanishing from her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Come here, then.” West tipped his head toward her. She sidled between him and the sawhorses. It was a perfectly respectable amount of space between them, but the distance still had his breath catching.