She blinked at the woman. “Seriously?”
That tittering laugh again. “Isn’t it terrible? But it works perfectly for my career.” But then she sobered. Stood.
Who cared what her career was? If this was the type of woman Stone wanted then Brighton really didn’t know him. She stole another glance at the front desk and found his gaze flinging away from them again. Seriously? He liked this plastic-enhanced, platinum-dyed?—
“How’s the ankle?”
At the rich voice that feathered along her left ear, Brighton flinched toward Superman Jr, who’d helped wrap her ankle the other night. The night Stone had kissed her. What was his name again? Ross? Ray?
“Oh. Hi. It’s good—fine.” Though now that he reminded her about the injury, she realized it was starting to throb. Or maybe that was her anger. “Where’d you come from?”
“Stables.” He whiffed his underarms. “Thought y’all could smell me coming.”
She wrinkled her nose. “So that’s what that was.”
He laughed. “Harsh. But I can clean up nicely given the chance.”
So not happening. Too young, too pretty. Too much like Leon Mueller. “Did you want a drink?”
“Uh, y’all serve coffee? You know, the real stuff. Not mouthfuls of sugar.”
“Of course. How do you take it?”
“Sweet and blond,” he said, more than a little suggestive. “Hey. You’re?—”
“Rowe.” Stone’s deep baritone thudded into her.
Brighton turned as he came up behind the property manager, and she busied herself preparing the drinks, all too aware of his larger-than-life presence. Remembering the way he’d crushed her to himself …
He just couldn’t like the plastic bombshell.
Stone homed in on his employee. “Oscar said the first group is ready for the trail ride.”
“Your coffee, Rowe.” Brighton handed him a lidded cup with a bold black coffee.
“Yep, got my brew”?—he hefted the cup to Stone?—“and heading out now.”
Stone ran a hand over his beard. “Find me when you get back. I’d like to know how it goes.”
Soft. His beard had been softer than she’d expected, tickling her mouth and neck as he …
Steamy coffee, not steamy kisses, Brigh.
“Sure thing.” Rowe tipped his ballcap at her. “Ma’am.”
Brighton breathed a laugh, feeling too young for that moniker yet knowing he meant it respectfully. When he left, she looked at Stone, surprised to find him eyeing her. Her stomach squeezed, wishing things could be normal between them. But then … what was normal? It’d been romantic evenings binge-watching TV shows, kissing?—
“You okay here?”
She jerked her gaze to the machine, as much to hide the heat in her face as to pay attention. “I am. Just pulling customers and helping shots.” Wait. “Reverse that.”
He almost grinned. “Let Oscar know if you need anything.” His tone was surprisingly civil and hung in a long pause. “Appreciate what you’re doing here.”
Locked in his ice-blue gaze, she dug out a smile. It must’ve been hard for him to say that. To acknowledge that she helped him. “It’s the least I can do.” Aware that Chandra was still sitting nearby, listening, monitoring, she added, “Sir.”
Disaster stalked him. This couldn’t end well. It just couldn’t. And sweet mercies, he’d hated hearing her call him “sir.” Reminded him of their large age gap. Might as well be enough to be her dad. “I don’t like this.”
Oscar paused in reviewing reservations but didn’t look up. “The inspector—”
