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Turning away, I tugged at my arm.
He just turned me back toward him, those green eyes holding me in place. “Backfilledcorrectly?”
Thank God for copious planning and construction meetings.
I could bullshit this answer with very little effort.
“Yup,” I said. “If they don’t use the right substrate and it’s not graded correctly, any water will drain toward instead of away from the foundation.” I tugged again, succeeded in freeing myself. “We want these buildings to last a long time, so I need to make sure they’re done right.”
That was the truth.
It was also a lie.
“Bullshit,” Joel muttered, stepping closer.
“It isnot,”I said, unwilling to let it go. “I didn’t give up two hours of my time learning aboutsubstratesjust to—”
His hand came to my jaw, tilting my head up. “Shut up, sweetheart.”
My mouth dropped open.
Then I got it together. “Did you just tell me to shut up?” My tone was dangerous.
He didn’t give a fuck, his lips turning up when he murmured, “Yup.”
Damn it, but my mouth dropped open again.
And, unfortunately for my sanity, he took advantage of that, moving into me, herding me back toward the building, walking me over that damned substrate, and pressing me into the stucco.
It was warm, heated from the sun.
But not as warm as him.
As hot as him.
“I need to get back to work,” I whispered.
“That’s the last thing you need to do,” he grumbled. “Especially if it means that you’re going to more meetings onsubstrates.”
“They’re budget meetings,” I told him blithely, still whispering.
“Christ,” he muttered. “It’s worse.”
My mouth wouldn’t stop. “And a podcast and a meeting with the grant committee.”
His lips curved further. “Fuck, baby, your job sucks.”
“Later, though,” I murmured. “I get to play with stickers and washi tape.”
Washi tape. Jesus.
Nothing like circling us right back to why we were in this situation.
Then he was closer, somehow still moving into me, pressing in so that not even a millimeter separated us from thighs to chest.
He had a good chest.
But he hadgreatthighs.
