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Once he’s inside the house, I throw my head back and close my eyes, then let out a loud groan into the night. Before I can forgo my duties, I lift up from the swing and take tentative steps down the front porch before heading toward the horses. Their heads turn at the sound of my approach and I smile as they trot over to me excitedly.
I’ll never get over how loving these creatures are.
I take them one at a time into their stalls, making sure to leave some food and water, then give them a soft kiss on the nose before heading back onto the porch. My gaze tracks over to the guest house, where the dim lights glow through the window, and I watch as Beau’s shadow steps behind the curtain.
The fabric sways with his movements and I dart my gaze away from them before he ends up poking his head through the crack.
You’re ridiculous, Piper. Of course, he isn’t worried about looking at you.
Considering he hasn’t made another move on me since the night of the party my dad threw me, I’d say my thoughts aren’t exactly wrong right now. It’s a tough situation though, since my father is in the picture, so I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
But dammit, my body is on fire every time I think of the man. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing — I could be in the middle of sneaking a nutrition bar in at work and he’ll pop into my head. Which is a very weird time to think about him, but the only thing I could manage to imagine is how angry he would be that my food during work hours consists of nutrition bars.
While everyone else around me gets to enjoy hoagies from down the road, or Chinese a few blocks from the office, I have to resort to sneaking the nutrition bars. Again, the image I need to uphold as a fashion designer.
The anger that Beau would exude if he found out exactly what I eat throughout the day is enough to have my body heating. Even now, as I’m thinking about the way his square jaw would clench and he’d narrow his eyes at me turns me on. God, it does something crazy to me.
And now I’m angry.
How dare he make it to where I can’t stop thinking about him and not do a damn thing about it? I’ve watched him walk around this place the last two or three days, and not once has he tried making a move on me.
Even during dinner. Instead of touching me in some way, he worried more about the food I kept in my house. Then he left before anything else could happen as if he wasn’t worried about anything else happening.
And here I go again, worrying about if he sees me or not. The plus side is that he hasn’t gone back to calling me kiddo, which is a relief that is, but how does he see me? Am I still just his best friend’s kid daughter that he feels like he needs to look out for, make sure I’m taken care of? I mean, that’s the entire reason he’s even doing the addition for me.
He didn’t want to leave my project to a staff member, worried that they might end up screwing something up.
You know what? I’m so fed up with this shit.
I’m sick of my head not being able to get the gorgeous man out of it, of not being able to go through my day without thinking of him in some sort of way. I mean, tonight, his chest was bare and it took every ounce of energy I had not to touch him. Not to run my tongue over his abs that were glistening with sweat from a long work day.
I stand abruptly from the swing once again, with only one thought in my head — I need to get this man the hell out of it. Before I can think better of the action, I stomp down the stairs of the porch and march right over to the white door of Beau’s side of the property.
My knuckles are loud against the silent night, but that doesn’t deter my determination to get my thoughts across. I need him out of my head and nothing will make me turn away from letting that be known.
Not even when he opens the door with a frown and a towel wrapped around his waist. I try my hardest not to track my gaze up and down his body, and instead plant my hands on my hips.
“Uh, everything okay?” He asks with his head cocked to the side.
I chuckle as if it’s the funniest thing in the world when it’s not, and point a finger at him. “No, Beau, everything isnotokay.”
“Okay, want to talk about it?”
How is he standing there so casually in front of me like this? Ugh, it’s nerve wracking. I run a hand through my hair and glare at him. “What I want is for you to get the hell out of my head!”
He blinks back in surprise, but that’s not going to stop me now. “All day, every day, the only thing I can seem to think about is you and I just want it to stop.” There’s a couple minutes of silence, or maybe seconds? I’m not even sure. Either way, it’s killing me. “Just get out of my head!”
The real question is… does he think about me as much as I think about him? Judging by the resigned look in his eyes, I’d say he doesn’t, and that only has me getting angrier. What could I possibly do to get him to see me, toreallysee me?
Chapter Eight
Beau
Herchestisheavingfrom the words she spilled and her creamy skin is flushed from anger. I’m standing here, staring at her, while a little dumbfounded by her words, then I take a slow step toward her. She’s mumbling to herself, not making any sense, and doesn’t realize I’m so close to her until my hand comes up to her cheek.
She snaps her mouth shut immediately as her gaze darts up to mine, a question shining in them that I can answer in only one way.
I lean my head down, brushing my lips against hers softly, inviting her in, and she fuses her lips further against mine. The towel hanging around my waist brushes across her thighs, opening slightly, but I try my best to ignore it.
