“You don’t eat what?” Hayden throws me a look of confusion and scratches his chin.
“You know, wheat-based food, like bread and pasta.”
“Are you allergic togluten?” he says the word funny, like he’s never heard it before.
“No, it’s a lifestyle choice. It makes my belly swell out like a prized porker.” The icy water is refreshing, and I feel the gulp flow from my throat into my stomach.
“Porker...” He looks at me oddly and rises. “Maybe you need a few days to settle in.” My insides flip when he repositions his hat and walks backward until his fine ass hits the counter. “I told Sawyer I’d drop you at home later. I have a shitload of work to do around the ranch and don’t have time to take you back now. Perhaps you can rest up here for today, and I’ll take you home later, when I finish up.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you’re the boss. If you say so.” A slow smirk spreads across his face, and his fingers curl around the edge of the work surface.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m the boss around here.” I can’t help but think he’s not talking about cleaning when his eyes gleam, giving them a mischievous glint. “You can rest in my bedroom. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Oh really. That’s so nice of you. Thanks.” I take a second to wonder if he’ll dock my wages for the food. “And you can take it out of my pay.” Mother warned me about proper protocol. It pains me to think I’ll have even less money at the end of the week, but I really do need something to eat.
“You ain’t started workin’ yet. I’m offerin’ and I ain’t chargin’.” Hayden’s hips propel off the counter, and he steps forward holding out a large manly hand. I swallow back the palpitations in my throat, feeling them chase my heartbeat as I slot my hand in his. Rough skin wraps mine, and he effortlessly tugs me to a stand. We’re inches apart, causing me to crane my neck just to look up at him. “You still feel faint?” The deep tone quivers in my chest.
Undoubtedly, my head is light and my knees weak, but right this second, I don’t know if he's responsible or if it’s the tiredness weighing me down.
“A little, but I’m okay. Nothing a few hours of sleep won’t sort out.” I lean back and try to take a step away from him. Hayden drops my hand, reaches an arm beneath my knees and an arm behind my back, then scoops me up like a feather. I yelp with shock, staving a giggle when our bodies rub together as he holds me against his torso.
“I can walk, Hayden, it's okay.” He doesn’t look at me.
“You ain’t fainting on my watch. I’d have to give you mouth to mouth resuscitation. Neither of us wants that.” I’m not sure if he doesn’t want me to faint or if he doesn’t want to kiss me.
“The last thing I need is a stranger slobbering all over me. I have jet lag, there is no need for our lips to meet.” I taunt with light laughter.
Now that I’m inches from his face, I note fine lines around his eyes and a light covering of hair shading his jaw. He’s older than me, but I’m not sure how much so. The yummy smell of fresh minty soap is even stronger, lulling my nose to rest in the dip of his neck. I stop myself from doing it. He’s only being nice, and I need this job, or I’ll be shoveling shit at Sawyer’s for the rest of my time in Heartville.
“For the record, I don’t slobber. Dogs slobber.” I barely feel any movement as he walks with strong, powerful strides, maneuvering the furniture like he was used to carrying women to his bedroom.
“They’re also loyal and obedient.” I offer some redeeming dog qualities to stop me gawking at those slightly wet lips of his, so pillowy and perfect. There’s no way his heavenly lips would be anything other than sublime.
“And devoted to their master.” He winks. It’s a sexy mind blowing hot as hell gesture that literally makes me sigh to relieve the gulp of air I just swallowed.
“Do you have those qualities, Hayden?” My feet swing a little.
“All the above, except for the slobbering.”
“Good to know,” I whisper.
I sure as hell would like to find out how good his kissing skills are. By the way his mouth moves when he speaks, I’m guessing he’s up there in the top ten. Miles above standard abilities. Ranking at phenomenal. A super snazzy snogger. Maybe he’d like to fool around in the hay when he finishes up for the day. My left ankle flicks up with a whimsical kick as I mentally berate myself for fancying my first ever boss. Trust me to complicate things. Although, in all fairness to me, it’s not every day you meet a hunky man with red hot sex appeal or get carried away by a new fuckable boss who’s also the key to my financial survival.
Something about this guy screams red alert. Not an irritating siren that blasts in your ears but more of a ding-a-ling bell - like if I tasted him, just once, I’d want seconds and thirds and possibly a lifelong taste testing fest. And that’s just impossible and outlandish. I’m too young to think about a life sentence with the same lips, even if they are truly scrumptious. I’m also too smart to permit my heart to trip up over a guy who lives miles away from home, and to add a nail to the coffin of possibilities, I’m way too carefree to think about the future.
We pass a chunky dining table, with enough chairs to seat six people comfortably, a large stone fireplace to guide lost cowboys home in the dark and a comfy couch with a duo of matching armchairs.
“My bedroom is over here. You’ll not be disturbed after I bring you food and water. Hank and I will be out all day working.” Stopping a few meters down the corridor, his arm snakes free from behind my knees, and he lets me down gently. Instantly he stands back, putting an obvious gap between my body and his. “I’ll be back in a bit, then I’ll head out.” He tips the rim of his hat again. Oh how I love the fact he’s wearing a cowboy hat. Like the cool dudes in movies who never shave but don’t grow full beards. You know the type - strong, silent and handy with a gun. The horseback hero who rescues the damsel in distress, who, let me add, just happens to be me today. And I’m all over the fantasy, full of swoons and stereotypes. It's unusual for me to encounter a man with a hat, unless it’s a sports cap in the gym. He really suits the look, and I have an outrageous idea to tell him.
“I like the look.”
“Of what?”
“The cowboy hat.”
“I ain’t a cowboy. I’m a rancher.”
“What’s the difference?”
