“Sure is,” I say.
She points toward the fields just past me. “That’s pretty, whatever it is.”
“Grosso,” I say immediately.
She shoots me a quizzical look. “You know the kind of lavender?”
“Well, I’ve been here a few days,” I say, nonchalant. “I picked up a few things.”
Which is true, but I also researched varieties of lavender after Ripley said these were one of her customers’ favorites. I was curious. Or, okay, fine. Maybe I wanted to know more about Ripley and her business. “It’s used for drying and in cooking,” I add.
An eyebrow arches. “Well, if a scene calls for a lavender expert and I can’t find Ripley, I’ll look for you.”
Note to self: shut the fuck up.I don’t want to let on to the producer that I’m too interested in all things related to my client.
“I was just…curious,” I add. I can’t follow my own orders this morning. Jesus, if sleeping next to a beautiful woman turns me into a blabbermouth, that shed is looking better by the minute. “Anyway,” I say, suddenly at a loss for words.
Tabitha’s wristwatch beeps a warning, and she snaps her gaze to it, then closes the alert.
“I’d ask about the other varieties, but I’ll lose my cardio bennies if I don’t take off,” she says, tapping her device.
“Don’t want to lose those bennies. Have a good run,” I say.
She gives a wave, then trots off.
Relieved to see her go, I circle the farm, giving the dog a chance to stretch his morning legs and myself some space from an unexpectedly spoon-y kind of night.
Fifteen or so minutes later, I return to the cottage, the dog bounding to the door. As I follow, I review the plan. I’ll apologize for my overexuberant spooning, and then we’ll move on. At least I have the day off, since Marcus, one of my backups, will look out for Ripley. The space will be good. Hell, it’s necessary.
I jerk open the door and Hudson rushes inside, racing to his favorite person, who’s coming around the corner from the bathroom.
She’s wearing only a towel cinched around her breasts and coming down to her mid-thighs. Her wet hair is sleek against hershoulders, and a drop of water slides down her chest between the valley of her breasts.
So much for the disappearance of my hard-on.
“Oh. I just got out of the shower,” she says, a little flustered.
“I figured as much,” I say dryly. Mostly to cover up the heat flaring in my bones.
“I’ll get out of your way.” She gestures to the bathroom.
I shake my head, waving to the door I just walked through. “No, I’ll get out of your way.”
“Banks, I really don’t want to put you out. You’re my guest. Let me grab my clothes and I’ll change in there.” She scurries over to her suitcase, and I stand stock-still by the door. If I leave, I’ll look like I can’t handle this close proximity.
If I can’t handle this, I can’t handle the job. I’m only three days in. I’ve got to get a handle on this…lust.
“Yeah, no problem,” I say, all cool and casual as I finally move, heading to the couch, looking elsewhere. Looking anywhere but at Ripley. Even when she walks past me again, clutching some clothes to her chest. Those lucky clothes.
Fine, I looked.
Once she’s snicked the door shut to the bathroom, I sink down on the couch, drop my head in my hands, and sigh heavily. “How the hell am I going to make it through the next few weeks?”
The universe doesn’t answer. Nor do I.
A couple minutes later, she emerges, fresh-faced and dressed in a…killme now.
She’s wearing a sundress.
