But even as I agreed with Brom’s warnings, I couldn’t help stealing another glance at Kent. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The simple gesture managed to be incredibly sexy. I found myself wondering what it would feel like to trace that same path with my fingertips.
We worked through the afternoon, creating an impressive collection of trees on the front porch of the lodge. Some were destined for the main hall where the party would take place and others would go in the library and dining room. A few of the smaller ones would be placed throughout the guest areas to add to the festive atmosphere.
By the time we’d hauled the last tree up from the farm, the sun was already starting to set behind the mountains, castingeverything in that magical golden light that made even the most ordinary winter day look like Christmas.
Kent stood at the bottom of the porch steps, hands on his hips, surveying our accomplishment. His hair was tousled from the work, his cheeks were flushed from the cold and exertion, and his shirt was damp with sweat despite the freezing temperature.
He looked absolutely gorgeous. And completely exhausted.
“Well,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the fact that I was fighting the urge to drag him inside and have my way with him. “I guess it’s time to start decorating.”
Kent’s shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment I thought he might actually groan out loud. “All fifteen of them?”
“All fifteen of them,” I confirmed cheerfully. “The party is tomorrow night, remember? These trees need to look spectacular.”
To his credit, Kent just nodded and pushed himself away from the porch railing. “Alright then. Where do we start?”
“Storage shed,” I said.
He nodded. “Actually, I need a drink first.”
“Of course. Come on.”
We went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple cans of cold soda. I watched as his throat worked, downing the sugary drink.I must have it bad because everything little thing he does is turning me on.He put the can on the counter and wiped his mouth.
“You don’t have to,” I blurted out. “Help, I mean. You’re here on vacation and we’re working you way too hard.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “What else am I going to do?”
We finished our drinks and headed out back. I found myself stealing sideways glances at Kent. Despite his obvious fatigue,there was something energizing about working alongside him. He didn’t complain about the physical labor, didn’t act like manual work was beneath him. He seemed genuinely interested in making sure everything was done right.
It was attractive in a way that had nothing to do with his impressive physique and everything to do with his character.
CHAPTER 22
KENT
The storage shed was surprisingly well organized for something that had clearly been accumulating Christmas decorations for decades. Dry, compact, and methodically arranged, it was pretty clear someone took their holiday traditions seriously.
Sylvie and I spent the better part of an hour hauling boxes out onto the porch. I found myself increasingly impressed by how hard she worked. There was no princess attitude, no expectation that I’d do all the heavy lifting while she supervised from a comfortable distance. She grabbed boxes that were clearly too heavy for her and wrestled them into submission through sheer determination.
She’d been going since this morning, too. She was already busy in the hall when I made my way downstairs. How long had she been up? The woman was a machine. Dedicated.
And damn, she looked incredible doing it.
The jeans she was wearing should have been illegal. I got a good look at them earlier, but they just kept looking better by the minute. They made her ass look absolutely unreal. Her zip-up sweater was fitted enough to show off her figure without being obvious about it. She had a nice set of tits. Not huge but notsmall. Perfect. Every time she bent over to pick up another box, I had to remind myself to breathe.
The crazy thing was I didn’t think she knew how sexy she was. I didn’t spend a lot of time with women in jeans. The jeans the women I spent time with were usually designer and worn with sexy heels. Sylvie’s jeans were broken in and perfectly tailored for her body after wearing them so often. She didn’t put the jeans on to impress me or anyone else. They were her work clothes. It wasn’t about fashion or impressing anyone. It was what worked for her.
Her work boots were practical as well. Not fashionable, just sturdy and worn. She had this habit of stomping them off every time we got back onto the porch, a small gesture that was somehow both endearing and sexy as hell. Her thighs looked strong and capable. There was this grit and fierceness in her eyes when she was focused on a task that made me want to pin her against the nearest wall and find out what that intensity would look like directed at me. Something told me the woman gave as good as she got.
And I really,reallyliked to give.
Anytime I was with a woman, I had to remind myself to be gentle. Be careful.
