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Honestly, a guy in blue jeans and work boots should not do it for her. None of the other guys who lived and worked in Autre did.
Oh, she objectively found them good-looking and appreciated muscles and hard work and all of that, but she didn’t want to kiss any of them. She didn’t wonder what their calloused hands would feel like gliding over her skin. She didn’t want to put her face against their tanned necks and breathe in the scent of outdoorsy man.
Except for Theo Taggart.
And shereallywanted to do all of those things with him.
She went for guys in suits. She always had. She'd grown up in New York City, where her father was a prominent, successful lawyer. She'd been surrounded by successful men in jackets and ties, who got regular haircuts, carefully trimmed their beards—if they had facial hair at all—and used expensive cologne.
The fact that she was incredibly attracted to a man whom she'd never seen wear anything but denim, had shaggy hair that always looked like he’d just run his hands through it, had a dark scruffy beard, and smelled like sunshine, dirt, and sometimes saltwater, drove her crazy.
She also never would've expected to be attracted to a southern Louisiana drawl. But Theo Taggart had grown up in Autre, Louisiana, and he was every bit a bayou boy. He could make her hot and wet in ten seconds, and that had nothing to do with the water he spent so much time on and in.
"Evenin’ everyone," he said in his deep voice.
Savannah gritted her teeth. He was so annoying.
"I appreciate the chance to give some comments. I noticed this item on the agenda tonight and of course, anytime anybody is talking about doing something with my bayou, I’ve gotta check in."
Savannah rolled her eyes. The rest of the city council gave him big smiles.
This bayou wasn’this. A stretch of it was part of a state park, so she supposed it belonged to the state of Louisiana. The rest of it just belonged to…all of humankind as far she was concerned.
"Anyway, I do have some thoughts," Theo went on. He braced his big hands on the podium, making it look like a tiny toy table in front of his huge body.
Savannah shifted uncomfortably on her chair and tore her eyes away from his hands. She spent too much time thinking about his hands as it was. And his arms. And shoulders. And chest. And that ass.
He was so annoying…ly hot.
Dammit.
"I understand that Miss Lee is just doing her job, and I can see how luxury cabins along the bayou couldseemlike a good idea…to somebody who's never spent even a night down there. But the bayou has a specific ecosystem. And, as much as I love it, it can be downright dangerous. I certainly don't encourage people who have no idea what they're doing to come down and hang out. Seems to me we don’t want a bunch of rich city folk…no offense, Miss Lee, but I'm assuming that's who you’re going to be targeting with your marketing campaigns?”
Savannah sat up straighter in her chair as he twisted to look at her. She bristled. How dare he make assumptions like that?
So her boss tended to cater to a group of tourists who liked luxury experiences and definitely spent more than the average American family when they went on vacation. They weren’t going todiscriminate.
“We will welcome anyone and everyone to our cabins,” she replied coolly. “Of course.”
“But it’s gonna take money to pay the private chef who’s gonna be making the morning beignets and the chicory coffee, and the gumbo and etouffee and evening Pimm’s cups that you’re treating these folks to. Not to mention the boat captains that you said would be available to take these guests back and forth from the cabins. Oh, and you mentioned housekeeping services each day, I believe. That’s not gonna be cheap.”
She frowned. “Of course it won’t becheap. We want to make the experience…nice. It’s not just any weekend accommodation, but it seems thatyou’rethe one making assumptions about the people who might enjoy time down here in your beloved hometown.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. But my assumptions are based on a lot of experience.”
“You’re in the hospitality industry?” she asked.
“Well…let’s call it hospitality adjacent,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
He actually grinned at her. “You have no idea what I do every day, Miss Lee.”
God, she really wished he’d stop calling her Miss Lee. He made her sound like a Kindergarten teacher. AsweetKindergarten teacher. Like her best friend Becca.
She was very much not sweet like Becca.
“I don’t,” she admitted. “But I’m guessing it doesn’t involve making beignets for other people or folding freshly washed towels in fancy ways?”
