“Everything okay?” Kent asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Felt like I was walking into something back there.”
I waved a hand. “Nope. All good.”
Thirty minutes later, I was thinking Stacy might need to warn Kent aboutmyintentions.
Watching Kent Bancroft haul Christmas trees from the farm up to the lodge was like watching a master class in how to make manual labor look effortlessly attractive.
I’d expected him to struggle. City boys usually did when faced with actual physical work. They were all expensive gym memberships and designer workout clothes but no real experience with the kind of labor that involved dirt under your fingernails and sweat. They weren’t used to working out anywhere except in a carefully controlled air-conditioned fitness center.
But Kent surprised me. He had more brute strength than I had anticipated. More importantly, he knew how to use it properly. Instead of trying to muscle the trees around with just his back like a rookie would, he put his legs into it, using his whole body efficiently. He hoisted a full-sized Fraser fir up onto his shoulders and carried it like a lumberjack who’d been born to the work.
A lumberjack I desperately wished I could climb like a tree.
The December air was cold enough to turn our breath into white clouds, but Kent was generating so much heat from the exertion that steam actually rose from his body. He had taken off his new coat and was wearing a black henley that was just a tiny bit tight. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his shirt, making the fabric cling to his chest in ways that made it impossible not to notice the outline of his abdominal muscles.
Lord have mercy, he was ripped.
I’d been hoping he would roll up his sleeves so I could get a proper look at his forearms. I had a thing about forearms—always had—and from what I could see beneath the fabric of his shirt, Kent’s were going to be spectacular.
His hands were definitely spectacular. Large and capable, with long fingers that handled the trees with surprising gentleness despite their obvious strength. Which naturally led my mind to wonder about other things that might be large and impressive that I couldn’t currently see.
I had to mentally slap myself and refocus on my own work multiple times throughout the afternoon.
This was dangerous territory. Kent Bancroft was the last man I should be attracted to. Not only was he a walking red flag, wealthy, charming, probably used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, but he was also potentially my family’s only get-out-of-jail-free card.
Without his family’s investment, the farm would go belly up. If I got romantically entangled with him and things went sideways, what was stopping him from just picking some other rundown farm in some other middle-of-nowhere small town? There had to be dozens of struggling family businesses that would jump at the chance for Bancroft money.
But knowing all of that didn’t stop me from watching the flex of his shoulders as he lifted another tree, or the way his jeans hugged his backside as he climbed the porch steps.
I was loading a smaller tree onto a sled with Brom’s help, planning to drag it up to the lodge, when I realized I’d been staring at Kent’s butt.
Brom cleared his throat.
My head snapped up, heat flooding my cheeks. “What? I wasn’t looking.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Brom replied, clearly amused by my defensive reaction. “But for what it’s worth, he’s been staring at you too. So much so that I’ve been thinking about having words with him about it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said quickly, mortified at the thought of my big brother confronting Kent about checking me out.
“You’re my baby sister,” Brom said, watching Kent drag another tree up the porch steps with easy efficiency. “He’s a hotshot billionaire from the big city. Sue me for having your best interests at heart.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know you’re my little sister and it’s very awkward watching this play out in front of me.”
“Like I don’t watch you and Stacy kissing and touching and whispering,” I replied.
He paused, studying Kent’s form as he positioned the tree against the porch railing. “Stacy doesn’t trust him.”
“Stacy doesn’t trust anyone who isn’t blood-related to us,” I pointed out.
“Fair enough,” Brom conceded. “Just keep your wits about you, sis. This guy might be all hot and saying the right things now, but that doesn’t mean you should let him mess with your head. Got it?”
I nodded, trying to look appropriately chastened. “Got it. Loud and clear.”
