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I chuckle to myself. I suppose when used in the right context, nice can be quite the descriptive word, after all.
“Are you looking at his butt?” Lacey whispers in my ear playfully, nudging me in the ribs.
“I most certainly was.” I don’t see the point in denying it. I mean, it’s not like it’s her…oh, for the love of all that’s holy. I was going to say brother, but that’s, in fact, who he is.
The hot guy, whose mere back leaves me drooling, is Cayden. Please, earth, swallow me whole.
“Let’s go. We should go,” I suggest on a rushed breath, my cheeks heating. And the blaze has nothing to do with the blazing sun.
“Go? We just got here. Besides, he’s seen us now. That would be rude.” She butters her tone with utter hilarity. I’m glad one of us is having fun because Cayden shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, before marching over to where we stand.
He is absolutely mesmerizing, all dominant, and clearly pissed off, and I need to look away, but I can’t. The way he moves—he’s all lithe and predatory, his movements mimicking a lion stalking his prey. When he stops a few feet away, and his fragrance catches the wind, I suddenly don’t mind being game.
“Lacey, what are you doing here? I’m working.” Yes, he’s working that outfit. Wow, who would have thought a simple pair of jeans and a shirt could look that good.
“Hi, Coach.” She waves while I almost gag on my tongue, transporting me to the here and now.
“You’re Coach?” That was meant to be a silent question, but when he meets my eyes, all social grace goes out the door.
“Yes, my friends call me that. Why?” His bite shakes some sense into my hormone-fueled episode, reminding me that we’re obviously not friends as I was not privy to such insight.
Before I have a chance to tell him to shove his friendship up his glorious ass, Lacey intervenes. “Our surname is Coachman.” It takes me a few seconds, but I soon realize I’ve heard or rather seen this name before.
“You’re the boss?” Again, I did not intend to vocalize that, but it appears my mouth filter is short-circuiting today.
Cayden’s bowed lips twitch. “Yes, I am. I’ll just take that dumbfounded look on your face as a compliment.” His comment has me swiftly closing my gaping mouth while he chuckles.
My stomach frolics in response. Traitorous tramp.
“So care to explain why you’re on my site with all that…stuff?” He gestures to the cart with his cleft chin, arching an amused brow.
Lacey’s comment about her home and owing her gratitude to Cayden now makes perfect sense. The house is clearly different—a personal touch added to it because its owner is an architect. And a damn good one at that. Not just the house is witness to this, but I only need to look at my surroundings to see that whatever Cayden is building is going to be stunning.
All admiration is forgotten, however.
“Because my car is packed full, and you need to take Peyton home.”
“He does?”
“I do?” we say in unison. While I ask in surprise, he is clearly opposed to the idea. I swallow down my disappointment.
“Yes, you do. You’re almost done here anyway.”
A dimple hugs his whiskered cheek. “And how do you know that?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You’re the boss. Don’t pretend you do any work.” This is a fight he won’t win, so he sighs. His reservations do sting, but I’m a big girl and read this for what it is.
Lacey’s gaze wavers to where Gunn just happens to stroll past, carrying a plank of wood. His muscles bulge and ripple in just the right way to amplify every bead of sweat coating his golden skin. She doesn’t stand a chance.
“Don’t wait up.”
Cayden turns, and when he sees Gunn, he shakes his head.
All amusement fades to the wind when Lacey’s abrupt departure results in Cayden and me being alone. I don’t know why, but it appears we’re both uneasy around the other. Some may mistake it for chemistry or my hormones cavorting with an attractive man, but there is something underlying. And I intend to find out what.
“So…I have a few things to do. Here.” He reaches into his back pocket, producing his keys. “My truck is just around the corner. Do you need help? I’ve got muscle I can spare.” Of its own accord, my gaze drifts to his shirt and the way it clings to every hardened plane. I’m sure he does. “If you can tear Gunn away from my sister, he’s yours.”
Well, this is just going from bad to worse. The dusty air is clearly clouding my brain because he was obviously not offering his muscles. “No, I’m okay. I’ve got my own muscles.” Even I cringe at how fucking ridiculous I sound.
But a strangled breath catches in my throat when a smirk tugs at his lips.
Reaching for the hard hat on his head, he removes it and steps forward so we’re almost pressed chest to chest. I peer up at him, holding my breath as he places it gently on my head and roughly confesses, “I can see that.”
He doesn’t hide his admiration for me and my muscles as he scours every inch of my flesh. A wave of goose bumps licks at my skin, rippling across each section following his intense stare.
When he openly looks at me this way, I can trick myself into thinking he too feels this static bouncing between us, but as soon as the look of warmth passes him, it’s outshined by vacancy. I can’t deal with this emotional whiplash.
Cayden Coachman is bad news, and I need to stay away.
Reaching for the keys in his hand, I whimper when an electrical current of ten billion volts zaps me into near submission. A simple touch shouldn’t have the aptitude to do this. But it does. Why?
Immediately, the need to escape overcomes me because I feel the walls closing in on me. I snatch the keys and dash for the gate. I know I’ve left the cart behind, but the darkened vortex is once again sucking me deep into the abyss of no return.
The disturbed earth kicks up from under my feet, but I continue sprinting until I make it out of the gateway. The manacles loosen, and I take a deep breath, but that is in vain because what I bear witness to, only feet away, has my blood turning cold.
A young girl, no older than eight, stands in the middle of the road; the pink ice-cream cone she held is now squelched in a puddle at her tiny feet. I come to a screeching halt, every fiber of my being screaming at me to stop.
We lock eyes, both in a daydream as we examine the other. That bothersome scratch rasps at my middle because she looks so…familiar. I get lost in her eyes…the color reminding me of the clearest blue water.
Water…
A guttural cry pierces the air, and I instantly cover my ears. But I need to fight. Every part of me is demanding I wake the fuck up and move. The reason is soon clear, and I quickly realize that death-curdling sound is coming from me because that little girl…the little girl who looks like she’s just seen a ghost…is seconds away from being struck by a car.
Without thought, I let go of fear…I let go of this familiar burn, and I run.
