Nash leaned against the doorframe separating the kitchen from the living area, his hand tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “You should try performin’ that in the Square tonight.”
Rory screeched, arms flailing as she teetered on the already wobbly ladder. Nash didn’t stop to think as he lunged, hoping to catch her before she fell off the six-foot ladder and straight onto that perfect, heart-shaped ass.
But Rory, being Rory, caught herself. One hand gripping the top of the ladder and the other pressing against her chest, she twisted in his direction, her eyes narrowed and lips pinched in a nasty scowl. “Nash King, what do you think you’redoin’? You can’t just creep into kitchens and scare the livin’ daylights out of people!”
Fuck, he wished he didn’t get half hard every time she yelled at him, because God knew she did it every damn day. If there was one thing that got Rory riled up, it was when he simply smiled in response to one of her tirades. And because he was a masochist, he did exactly that. He’d had a lot of practice riling her up, and he’d gotten good at it.
“You think I turn this charm on just anyone, princess? I save the kitchen creepin’ only for you and your sweet, swayin’ hips.”
When they’d first started working together more than a year ago on The Willow Tree—Finn and Drew Thomas’s baby and Havenbrook’s first bar—saying things like that to her had actually left her speechless for all of fifteen seconds. Had made her turn the brightest shade of red, and he hadn’t been able to avoid wondering how far that blush went. The thought still haunted him.
She might have still turned pink, but those days of her staying silent, for even fifteen seconds, were long gone.
“You may think the sun comes up just to hear you crow, but I’m not one of your little pet chickens.” She turned up her nose, dismissing him as best she could, and brushed a hand down her front…right over the splatter of paint she’d gotten on her pretty white blouse. Gasping, she dropped the paintbrush in the tray and wobbled again as she pulled the shirt away from her chest, nearly toppling off the ladder as she did so.
“Dammit, Rory!” He surged forward again, gripping the sides of the wooden death trap and securing her on it with nothing more than his body. How did she manage to do this to him? Make him want to pull out his hair, while at the same time cut off his own arms if it would keep her safe.
He tightened his grip on the sides of the ladder, if for no other reason than so he wouldn’t be tempted to run his hands over her body just to make sure she was okay. Her scent enveloped him—something light and floral—and as soon as he took his first deep inhale of her, goose bumps erupted all over her exposed skin.
Her breaths puffed against his lips, and his parted in response. Even halfway up the ladder and wearing heels, she was only just his height. The rise and fall of her chest pulled his gaze down to her breasts. Small, round, perfect little mouthfuls. Not that he knew that for certain, but he could imagine. And, shit, had he imagined. Foryears,he’d been imagining.
“I’m—” Rory’s voice came out breathless and scratchy, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m a perfectly capable adult, thank you very much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to…” She gestured down the front of her shirt to the paint splatter.
“At least you’re festive.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Red pants. White shirt. Blue paint.” He shrugged. “Seems like a winning combo on the Fourth.”
She huffed, stomping her foot as best she could on the ladder. “Of course you’d make light of this. This isyourfault. If you hadn’t surprised me in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. I can’t go out lookin’ like this. I’m gonna have to run on home and change. Heavens, I’m gonna be late…” She placed a hand on his chest and shoved him away so she could climb down the ladder.
He ignored the feeling of her hand on his body, ignored the hitch in her breath as she touched him, and glanced at his watch. They only had fifteen minutes before the start of the annual baseball game her family played in each year. There was no way in hell he could let Rory go home. If she did, she’d miss the opening pitch. And if she missed that, she’d miss the show Finn had been planning for months. If she missed the show… Well, her sister Will would be upset, which would upset Finn, who would, in turn, make Nash’s life a living hell for causing his girl grief.
It was a clusterfuck, and Nash didn’t want any part of it, but he’d lost that possibility the moment he’d answered Drew’s call. And considering Drew and Finn’s bar was the main reason Nash was well on his way to buying out King Construction, he owed them both a hell of a lot. The least he could do was make sure Rory got where she needed to be when she needed to be there.
“Sorry, princess, there’s not enough time to fuss with all that.”
Rory breathed out a disbelieving laugh as she blinked up at him. “Excuseme? I must’ve heard you wrong, because I know there’s no way you’d be tryin’ to tell me what I can and cannot do, considering I’m a grown woman whose decisions are of absolutely no concern to you.”
Aw, hell, he’d gone and awoken Pissed-Off Rory. He’d become well acquainted with this version of her in the past few months—ever since she’d been helping out here and there with the residents’ designing needs. Construction and interior design went hand in hand, which meant they’d been working side by side for days…weekson end.
As such, Nash knew he had to play this smart. If he pressed Rory to go to the baseball diamond, she’d only push back harder. But if heguidedher in that direction… Well, she just might go willingly.
He held up his hands. “Fine, fine. You do whatever you’d like.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna run—”
“I just thought, what with your daddy countin’ on you for their team since y’all lost last year and all, that you’d wanna get down there just as soon as possible and not cause any more grief. You know, for the family. But that’s my mistake.” He shrugged as if whatever she chose was no big deal to him.
She opened her mouth, then promptly snapped it shut as she glanced down at her paint-covered blouse. “You can’t be suggestin’ I show up lookin’ likethis! On time or not, this—” she gestured down the front of her “—would be a disgrace. You may not care about things like that, butI—”
“Course I’m not suggestin’ that.” He reached back and grabbed the neck of his shirt, pulling it off in one fell swoop before holding it out to Rory. “You can borrow mine. It’s even white.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unlessyou’drather be the one out there without a shirt on?”
Under normal circumstances, a jab like that would’ve had Rory spouting off and giving Nash a fifteen-minute lecture on appropriate talk in the workplace. Now, though, she stood in front of him, her lips parted, her eyes raking over his bare chest. And,fuck, he loved every imagined caress of her gaze on him. So much so, he had to force himself not to move a muscle. Not a single damn inch. Because if he did, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t back her into the wall and kiss the living daylights out of her.
There were a whole lot of inches moving behind his zipper, though, and every one of them wanted Rory.
They’d been doing this dance for too fucking long. Since The Willow Tree when Finn, Drew, and Nola—the third partner in the bar—had hired him as a contractor. They’d budgeted for that, no problem. What they hadn’t budgeted for was a designer, and they had been in desperate need of one. So Rory, being Rory, had elbowed her way in to help. She’d done so without charging a cent, though, so he had to admire her for that.
