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“Did I miss any?” she asked, turning this way and that. As she spun around, Oliver couldn’t stop himself from eyeballing her ass in those simple black slacks.

“I think you’re good.” Oliver met her gaze as she turned back around. A black eyelash rested on her cheek, and Oliver reached out to pick it up before she could move. Holding it up for her, he said, “Make a wish.”

Before she could blow, sharp pain erupted down his shin, and Oliver hollered, jumping back. He bent over and lifted his pant leg to find four red abrasions on his shin where Beast had dragged his beefy paw. The dog had placed himself between Eve and Oliver, and Oliver got the feeling the dog was claiming her.

“It’s on, Fido. I just became your worst nightmare,” Oliver said too low for anyone else to hear.

Beast snorted, snot flying and smacking Oliver in the face.

Oliver stood up with his eyes closed, the cool wet snot sitting on his eyelids. He was just about to drag his T-shirt over his face, when he felt Eve touch his cheek. Before he could move, she was wiping his face with something cold and wet, starting with his eyelids.

“I keep wipes in my purse for when I spill things, which happens about five times a day. I’m one of those people who looks really responsible and put together, but in reality, I’m a mess.” Oliver opened his eyes, watching her as she cleaned him up and continued talking. “I mean, you should see what I carry around. People always joke about everything women carry in their purses, but I am prepared for every disaster.”

As she rambled on, Oliver became aware that he had bent closer to help her reach his face. He inhaled the light, floral scent of her perfume and sweetness that seemed to be all Eve. It was bliss and torture at the same time, having her close enough to touch and taste, yet being denied the pleasure.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, Oliver caught her wrist as she wiped along his cheek. “I can finish up.”

Eve’s cheeks lit up red and she pulled away, holding the wet wipe out to him. “Sorry, I just thought you got some in your eye and was trying to help.”

“I know,” he said, taking the wipe.

After a moment of awkward silence, Eve said, “I guess I should go make sure that Caleb is getting everything. We need to discuss the social-media stuff after the photo shoot, so don’t take off, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said.

As she walked away, Beast whimpered, and Oliver frowned down at the dog. “Look, we’re stuck with each other. She is not going to save you, so you might as well forget about her. She’s not for you.”

And definitely not for me.

Beast grunted, as if he was disagreeing with Oliver. But even if Eve did want Oliver back, she would be his downfall. She might be stubborn and outspoken, but she was also too nice for her own good. He’d never had nice, didn’t even know what to do with it. The women he went for knew the score and never asked for more than he could give.

And no matter how many naughty thoughts he might have about her, Evelyn Reynolds was a woman who wanted it all. She’d demand everything from him, and if he couldn’t deliver . . .

He cou

ldn’t take the chance that she might ruin him.

“No. She is definitely not for us.”

“SO, YOU READY to work?” Oliver asked several hours later.

Eve wanted to say yes, but the pictures had taken longer than she’d expected and she was so hungry she was ready to eat a horse.

“Sure. Do you want to do this in that conference room?” They stood in the front lobby beside Beast, who sat panting at Oliver’s side. Everyone else was eating dinner in the large dining hall, and although Sparks had invited her to join them, she’d actually wanted to be alone with Oliver so they could get their work done.

But it was almost too quiet around them, making the loud, rapid thud of her heart that much louder. She was still embarrassed at having practically molested him earlier, but she had to work with him, which meant shoving down her attraction to him. No more touching, flirting, teasing—nothing.

“Yeah, but at the risk of you getting pissed, I’m pretty hungry,” he said. “Maybe we could order a pizza or something?”

Eve’s stomach rumbled at the thought. “I would love some pizza.”

Oliver pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Before she could pick it up, he reached out and grabbed her bulky laptop bag, waving at her to follow him. “Yeah, I’d like to order a large . . . ” He paused, looking at her.

“I like pepperoni and olive,” she said.

“Pepperoni and olive pizza, a two liter of Coke, and add some of those cheesy breadsticks . . . eight of them, with marinara and ranch. Yeah, delivery.” As Oliver led her into a small room with a rectangular table and several chairs, he set down her bag and rattled off the address and his credit card number.

Eve took a seat, watching him end the call, and her gaze was drawn to the tan, sinewy muscles of his arm.

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