I do my very best not to look down.
I've seen how devastatingly thick his thighs are in his jeans, I don't need to see them bare and glistening with water. I have no desire to focus on what color his boxers are—but I do notice, they're red and they're glued to absolutelyeverything—because I have no desire to ruin my perfectly professional relationship with my client.
What steals my attention more than anything else, though, is how strong his body is—because I'm absolutely terrified he's about to yell at me for mouthing off. He's told me to leave plenty of times so far, but this is the first time I've given him a real reason to make me.
Instead, though, he tosses his head back on a laugh, as carefree as I've seen him. It might be the only genuine display of emotion other than boredom that I've seen from him so far.
“You sound cross with me, Ms. Bryce,” he says as he steps completely free of the water.
His tone is teasing, and if we were having a different conversation, I might even call it charming.
“My name is Mary, and Iamcross with you, Everett,” I say, sighing and keeping my gaze firmly fixed on his face. “What I'm trying to do here is important for both of us.”
The playful grin that was flirting at the corners of his mouth dissipates, and he bends to collect his clothes and shoes. He's once again back to his usual blankness, that careless attitude that I'm starting to realize is nothing but a ruse.
“I'm just trying to help you,” I say softly.
Everett’s shoulders tense for a moment, and he looks ready to argue when he turns his attention to me instead of his clothes.I don't know him well enough to know what to call it, but something shifts on his face when he sees my genuine concern.
I've watched businesses fail before. I know the difference between an investment and a lifestyle.
Everett’s not losing the ranch. He's losing his livelihood.
“Fine.” The word tears out of him with a sigh, but it's not anywhere near as frustrated as he usually sounds. “Give me 10 minutes to get dressed. I'll figure out an excuse for why we're late.”
He walks right past me while I'm still reeling in shock, making his way straight toward the house. Water is still dripping from him, and I should really probably say something, but I can't put together a single thought as I watch him slip through the back door of his house.
He's probably tracking mud all over the floors.
I stand there for a long moment, torn between disbelief and hesitant hope. Even if Everett is actually going to buck up and work with me until his daughter gets back home, I need to get my head on straight.
Everett being attractive does not warrant me ogling him at every turn. If he'd been looking at me the same way I've been looking at him, I'd be incredibly uncomfortable.
I ignore the rush of heat I feel at the thought of his eyes on me.
The walk back to my car is short, and I desperately wish I had something to focus on other than my own whirling thoughts. I can't even really narrow down on being annoyed at Everett, because thinking about him at all right now is just not a good idea.
Once I get back to my car, the following minutes are spent trying to come up with a decent excuse for being nearly an hour late to our meeting. I could say the car broke down, but that's just bad luck. Besides, I don't even know what would break thatwould only leave us an hour behind schedule. Maybe I could say I got a flat tire?
I have a spare. I think. Cars come with spare tires, don't they?
Everett seems like the kind of guy who could replace a tire in five minutes flat, though, so that's probably not a great excuse.
Whatever, he said he'd come up with something. I'll have to approve it before he goes spouting off to our prospective client, because I don't trust him not to say something completely ridiculous, but he’ll have a better idea of what’s reasonable.
I'm broken out of my thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I turn with my usual bright smile. If Everett is going to actually cooperate for once, I'm going to make sure it's worth his time. Positive reinforcement and all that. My smile falters as soon as I see him, and I almost wish I'd left him in the damn creek.
This issomuch worse.
His hair is actually combed neatly, and it doesn't look like he's been running his hands through it. He's wearing jeans without holesorstains, and nice boots that aren't covered in mud. He even put on a button down shirt that hetucked in.
“Ready to go?” I ask weakly, busying myself with my keys.
Any excuse to tear my attention away from him and the odd feeling in my stomach. He grunts affirmatively, and it doesn't even annoy me this time.
Christ, I need a break from Everett Riggs and all of his insufferably attractive parts.
EVERETT
