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“We’ll see.”
“What’s in it for you, anyway? Is this really just money?”
“I told you the other night. I do this for the thrill, and I find you very thrilling, Melody.”
I roll my eyes. “Great line.”
“I mean it.”
“I think you’re full of crap. I think you haven’t said a single true statement since we’ve met.”
His lips tug into a smirk. “I said I wanted to kiss you. That’s true.”
I laugh to cover my sudden excitement. What is with this guy? He’s supposed to be on a job right now, but he insists on hitting on me every chance he gets. I glance at his arms, at his biceps, and try not to think about the way he squeezed my finger and bent my wrist away and the power in his easy, languid motions, or in the way he held on to that bull and rocked his hips with its rhythm in an almost lascivious motion.
“Tell me about your family. Do you have parents?”
“I have parents,” he confirms. “A mother and a father. Both still living.”
“Lucky you. Are you close with them?”
“I’d say we’re close-ish. What about your mother?”
I dodge around a tree and cock my head. “She passed when I was little. Cancer.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Do you call your mother?”
He stops walking. “Are you interrogating me on how often I speak with my mom?”
“I’m trying to get to know the man that’s stalking me.”
He laughs and picks up a stick and cracks it in half. “Not stalking. Performing a service. And if I remember correctly, I haven’t contacted you since our first meeting. You’ve reached out each time since.”
I tighten my lips. “That’s a good point. Maybe I should think twice before I text you.”
“Maybe you should.” He tosses the sticks away and starts walking away. “Twice a week.”
“Excuse me?” I hurry to keep pace. We move along a narrow trail through the woods, the sunlight coming in through branches above, the smell of fresh sap in the air.
“I call my mother twice per week. Usually when I’m driving. She doesn’t always pick up though.”
“I’m honestly impressed. What about your dad?”
“Dad comes and goes as he pleases. I hear from him from time to time, but—” He shrugs and pushes a tree branch aside to let me go past. “We don’t all have the luxury of owning a ranch.”
I scoot through the gap and he keeps walking. He stays on my hip and slightly behind, loping along, looking around at the trees. It’s a beautiful day—not too hot, which is rare for this time of year—and I’m happy I decided to get away from a couple hours. Even if the company is less than ideal.
“Why do you seem interested in my family all of a sudden?” he asks as we come to a fallen tree in the path. The trunk is old and rotten, scattered with moss and small mushrooms. I climb up and stand at the top before looking back at him, hands on my hips.
“You seem to know so much about me and I don’t know a thing about you. I asked Ford, and he didn’t know anything either, which I thought was weird.”
He waves that away. “Ford and I are barely related.”
“I also spoke with one of your former clients.”
He goes very still at that. His charming exterior stiffens and his eyes lock on mine, sharp and searching. “And who would that be?”
