Page 35 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

I raised an eyebrow. “You want to host a juvenile stampede?”

“I want to host a family weekend,” she corrected, folding her hands. “Games, crafts, animal care workshops, scavenger hunt, end-of-weekend dance. Maverick’s obsessed with the idea, and if he is, other kids will be too. This is basically summer camp for the whole family. You can charge a premium for parent-child bonding, trust me. Plus, it’s only a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I thought of the time Damon ran a “petting zoo” for the local preschool, and we spent weeks apologizing to parents about their kids getting headbutted by goats and spit on by the alpacas.

“Don’t answer that, Sunshine.” She held up her hand, Stop in the Name of Love style. “I know you think this is a bad idea.”

Her use of my nickname and reference to the statement I’d made after we kissed almost made me smile. Almost.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I replied, half lying. “It’s just… ambitious. And expensive.”

She leaned forward. “If I can guarantee a full booking, will you let me run with it?”

I hesitated, caught off guard by how much I wanted to say yes. Her enthusiasm was contagious. The part of me that remembered what it was like to be a kid wanted to see it happen. The part of me that knew the ranch’s financial overview and wanted to protect it from any more losses, made me want to stay in our safe zone: weddings.

She waited, eyebrows arched in challenge.

So I did what any risk-averse man would do: I tried to mitigate the risk.

“If you fill every slot, I’ll approve it. If not, you’ll have to cancel.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “When I fill every slot, you have to agree to participate in the weekend.”

How did this become a negotiation?

She held out her hand. “Deal?”

Against my better judgment, I shook her hand, ignoring how small and warm her fingers were in mine, and tried very hard not to look at her mouth.

She stood to leave, pausing at the door. “Thanks, Dean. For trusting me with this.”

I didn’t have a response, so I just nodded. She left, and I stared at the closed door replaying our interaction over and over. The things I’d noticed—the way her eyes sparkled with delight when she talked about something she was passionate about—made me realize I needed more rules.

Rule One: No touching.

Not her hand. Not her waist. Not the small of her back when I’m moving past her. No catching her when she trips, unless letting her hit the ground would result in actual bodily harm. And even then, catch and release. Immediately. No lingering. No noticing how perfectly she fits against me. Definitely no remembering how she felt in my arms afterward.

Rule Two: No unnecessary time alone.

Work is necessary. Meetings are necessary. Anything involving closed doors, late nights, shared meals, or her sitting beside me instead of across from me is not. If everyone else leaves, I leave. If she needs help with something after hours, I suddenly become a firm believer in delegation. Under no circumstances do I manufacture reasons to be around her.

Even if I’ve already thought of ten.

Rule Three: No thinking about her.

Not her smile. Not her laugh. Not the way she gets that tiny crease between her eyebrows when she’s concentrating. Not her smart-ass remarks that somehow make her more attractive. And absolutely no thinking about what she looks like when she first wakes up, because I have no business wondering about that in the first place.

Rule three lasts approximately eleven seconds.

New rule.

Rule Four: No looking at her mouth.

Eyes. Forehead. Nose, if necessary. There is an entire assortment of perfectly respectable facial features available to me. Her lips were off-limits. Especially when she’s talking. Or smiling. Or biting the bottom one while she thinks.

Rule Five: No flirting.

Not intentionally. Not accidentally. Not whatever the hell happens when she gives me shit and my mouth responds before my common sense can intervene. I am her boss. I am a grown man. I am perfectly capable of having a conversation with an attractive woman without turning it into verbal foreplay.