Christ.I adjust myself again, grateful for the barn’s shadow.
Three weeks since she transferred from Havenridge—our cousins’ ranch—to Stoneridge. Works here during the day. Leaves at night. Like I’m supposed to stop thinking about her just because she clocks out.
Three weeks of cold showers that don’t help, of jerking off like a teenager, her name on my lips when I come.
Three weeks of pretending I don’t notice how her jeans hug her ass when she bends over the desk, how her throat moves when she swallows her coffee, how her breasts press against her shirt when she reaches for high shelves.
It’s a fucking problem.
“You’re doing it again.”
I whirl around so fast the toolbox nearly slips from my hand, and I end up holding it weirdly high—elbow bent like I’m mid–funky chicken dance—to keep it blocking the very obvious situation in my jeans.
My brother Ethan leans against his truck, arms crossed, smirk locked and loaded. “Do you always stand like that now?”
“It’s ergonomic,” I grit out, adjusting the stupid thing another inch higher when my dick decides to stage a protest.
“Right. Because nothing says back support like hovering a toolbox over your crotch at a ninety-degree angle.”
“Shut up.”
He lifts his hands in surrender but keeps grinning. “Hey, you do you. Or, well… clearly you already have.”
I resist the urge to throw the toolbox at his head. Mostly because if I move it even an inch,OSHA’s gonna need a bigger clipboard.
“This is your third patrol this morning,” Ethan continues, pushing off the truck. “Which, coincidentally, keeps taking you past the office window. Where Delaney is working.”
My gaze automatically swings to the window to see Delaney bent over at the filing cabinet, her heart-shaped ass perfectly outlined in her snug jeans.
Fuck. I force myself to look away before my cock punches a hole through the toolbox in front of me.
Jesus, the woman drives me insane without even trying.
I glower at my brother. “I’m checking fence integrity after this morning’s cut.”
“Right.” Ethan moves to stand beside me, following my sight line straight to the office window. “Is checking ‘fence integrity’ why you’re gripping that hammer like it’s your cock?”
I look down at my left hand like it’s an alien.
Sure enough, I’m white-knuckling the hammer at my hip, fist curled a little too familiarly around the handle.
Fantastic.
“Go away,” I mutter.
Ethan ignores me. “You could just talk to her,” he says lightly. “Maybe tell her you can’t stop staring at her ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.”
“That’s not—” I choke on my own lie.
He tilts his head. “You realize she’s been here three weeks, and you’ve said exactly threeusefulwords to her? ‘Morning,’ ‘paperwork,’ and—my personal favorite—‘grmfph.’”
“I did not saygrmfph.”
“You did.” He nods solemnly. “It was deeply erotic.”
“She’s my employee,” I bite out. “I’m her boss. There are rules.”
“And yet”—Ethan gestures lazily at the toolbox—“your anatomy seems profoundly uninterested in regulations.”
