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“You call clandestine explorations‘working together’?”Her full pink lips tipped at the corners, revealing a dangerous, beguiling little grin. I filed it away for future examination.
“Clandestine,” she repeated, swishing the swivel chair in a full circle.“I like that word.” Heat crept up my neck.“I like the way you look when you say it.”
I lurched. Too slow to cover the reaction her words spurred. She had to be joking, attempting to throw me off-balance. I held my ground, speaking to the wall above her head.“You can’t flirt your way out of this.”
Her soft laugh touched each corner of the room.“But it’s so much fun.”
“Debatable.”
Something rustled.“How about breakfast?”
I smelled something mouthwateringly sweet, cinnamon and sugar. Nope. I wasn’t falling for that again. I’d eaten the entire plate of lemon muffins she left behind yesterday, and the little witch knew it too. Bypassing the offer completely, I nodded to the door.“Come on, then.”
“Come on what?”
Maybe I was a bastard, because something danced inside my chest at her confusion.“We have work to do.”
“I am working—”
I tutted sadly, starting up the steps.“It’s all hands on deck today, I’m afraid.” As expected, she didn’t follow. I waited outside the door and called back,“We’re wasting time, princess.”
She appeared a second later, looking wonderfully disgruntled.“What does all hands on deck mean, exactly?”
I smirked, even though it pulled at my scar and made the result crooked.“It means, prepare to get those pretty little hands dirty.”
She snorted, the thick braid that contained her curls whipping over her shoulder.“I’m not dressed for manual labour.”
No. She wasn’t.“Probably should have thought about that.”
Her eyes flicked down nervously, square little teeth biting into her bottom lip. I sighed.“Wait right there.”
I glared down at Boy as he followed me to the dunnage, his tail flicking happily.“Little traitor. Don’t think I didn’t see you lick her hand.” If anything, his tail wagged more.“Oh yeah? You think she’s pretty? Well… no chicken for dinner. Just plain old dry biscuits, you’re going to hate it.”
We both knew the threat held no real weight.
I found April exactly where I left her, staring down atherphone with a little crease between her brows.“Everything all right?” I didn’t know why I asked. I didn’t want any details about her life.
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.“Everything’s great. Just a text from my friend Sydney.” She slipped the phone into her back pocket.
Sydney.Was that a man’s name or a woman’s?Doesn’t matter,I reminded myself. The distillery was the only thing that mattered, and I would play this little game with her for as long as it took before she grew bored and went back to London or Beverly Hills or wherever else.
Shaking out the overalls I’d retrieved from the dunnage, I held them out.“For your clothes,” I said.
“Oh.” Her fingers curled around the grey material.“Thank you.” She seemed genuinely touched by the gesture.
I shifted on my feet. She shouldn’t be, they were huge and stank of mildew.“They’ll get the job done.”
She nodded and set an expensive-looking purse on the stones, then lifted a leg, fiddling with the complicated looking strap around her ankle.Jesus, we’ll be here all day.Before I could think better of it, I whipped the material from her hand and lowered to my knees, spreading the fabric wide.“Leg.”
“What?” Her question sounded dazed but my cheeks burned too fiercely to look at her.
“Leg,” I said again, clearing my throat.“Put your damn leg in the hole, princess.” She placed one hand on my shoulder for balance. Her foot slid through the material, delicate bone and tendon brushing against my thumb. I squeezed the fabric. Moved to the next leg. She had freckles there too. Tan little starbursts on each of her toes. I could have let go then, but I eased the material slowly up her legs until my hand brushed her inner thigh. We both jerked and I released the fabric. She didn’t catch it in time and it pooled around her feet again. She scrambled for it, ripping it up her legs as though she were naked. I didn’t help this time. I didn’t move from my knees either.
What the hell was happening? I could barely breathe.
She’d closed half the poppers by the time I climbed to my feet. I still didn’t trust myself to speak, just turned and headed back to the malting room, trusting her to follow. A huge part of me hoped she didn’t.
8
