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“I’m not lying,” she lied.
“You are, but not to mislead, only because you’re embarrassed and uncomfortable. It’s fine, you know. I see the way women look at me when I go into town. I’m not an idiot.”
Okay, time to cut the bullshit, as Sutton would say. “Yeah, I’m sure you rarely have an itch you can’t get scratched.”
He seemed closer now, but she wasn’t sure whose fault it was. Maybe she’d moved closer to him without noticing.
“I don’t engage in casual sex.”
“Saving yourself for marriage, are you?”
He snorted, but she caught his gaze lingering on the swell of her breasts. Thank God she’d worn a nice bra today. She never could have anticipated this scenario.
God. What the hell was she doing? The little buzz she’d had from the beer was fading fast, and now this all seemed like a big mistake. She needed to end this interaction before she did something stupid.
Ignoring his perusal, she waded toward shore, squeezing water from her hair as she headed for her clothes. She could feel his gaze on her, and although she tried to act like she had no idea he was watching, she couldn’t help but put a sway in her hips.
She heard the slosh of water as he followed her out, and tried to focus on how cold she was rather than on how she was hoping he’d move up behind her and warm her up.
Inappropriate!
He was her employer, not some guy she wanted to pick up.
She slid on her top then her jeans, fighting to tug them back up her wet legs. From her peripheral vision, she could tell his gaze was fastened to the wiggle of her ass as she tried to get the pants back on. She unhooked her sopping wet bra and pulled it off through the armholes of her top, hoping her puckered nipples wouldn’t be too visible through the pale yellow fabric.
When she was relatively sure it was safe to look at him again, she did. His mask of disinterest was back in place, but his eyes did flick over her nipples, as though he couldn’t resist looking.
She shoved her feet back into her shoes, annoyed at the grit of sand between her toes, but in too much of a hurry to stop.
“I’d better get back to the house. I’m freezing.” She headed for the gap in the trees where the path began, but he was behind her before she got far.
“Are you running away from me because you’re having trouble controlling yourself?”
The nerve of this guy.
She whirled on him, glaring. “I have no problem controlling myself.”
“No?” he asked, his tone mocking. He leaned against a tree trunk bordering the path. “I think you’d let me do whatever I wanted to, even though you find me distasteful.”
“You’re pretty full of yourself, you know that?”
“So I’m imagining the way your lips part and your face turns pink when I give you orders?”
She’d always prided herself on being unreadable, but this hermit had her pegged.
“You’re always bossing me around – even more than you do with Sutton and Church. Why?”
“It’s hard to resist when you like it so much.”
“I don’t!”
“Then why don’t you storm off or tell me to go to hell when I get overbearing? Instead you move closer. You obey. You look away, but your body trembles.”
“No! You’re wrong.”
“When I tell you to crawl under the table to fetch the forks I drop, you do it. Every fucking time. No complaints.”
“You’re my boss.”
