“No,” I reply. “I want to know why you’re lying.”
“We tied. Let it go,” Tate barks. “You know if my grandfather sees you here, he’ll call the cops or get out his shotgun. Or both.”
“You didn’t count all the money,” I repeat and he opens the shed door aggressively and drops the box inside. “What are you up to? I’m not an idiot. I know you aren’t letting us win out of the goodness of your heart. You’d kick a puppy if you thought it was mine. So I don’t get it. And whatever your reason I’m here to tell you that I don’t want your charity.”
“For the love of all things hockey, woman, stop talking,” he huffs and his eyes dart over my shoulder, and then he’s suddenly hooking my arm and hauling me into the dilapidated barn. I open my mouth but as a startled squeak starts to escape, his big hand clamps down over it.
The forced silence allows me to hear the rumble of a car coming up the drive.
My back is pressed up against the side of the barn just left of the door, and Tate’s very large body is pressed against me. He changed after his dunking into a pair of school logo sweats and a T-shirt with the hockey logo on it. The fabric of both are supple and thin so I feel every part of him. Every hard curve, bump and twist of his athletic body. I stop breathing but I don’t know if it’s out of shock or fear or something else. The swirl of emotion in my belly is definitely…something else.
A car door opens and closes and then I hear Jace’s voice. “Tate! Where you at?” Tate doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. I think he’s staring at me, but there’re too many shadows to know for sure. Jace calls his name one more time and then I hear the distinct slam of their porch door. Tate’s hand over my mouth instantly loosens, but he doesn’t move it away from my lips. Instead he leans closer to me and whispers. “You really need to learn not to make mountains out of molehills, Magnolia.”
I bite his palm.
Not exactly gently but not enough to draw blood or anything. So when he jumps back wincing and cursing in a stage whisper I roll my eyes at his dramatics and put my hands on my hips.
“Tell me what the hell you think you’re doing lying about the bet results, and I’ll decide if it’s a mountain or a molehill,” I reply.
“You are the biggest pain my ass has ever experienced, you know that? And I once took a slap shot to the ass, so that’s saying something,” He runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath again before turning back to me. “Yeah. I lied about the cash we made and technically, I guess my farm won the bet. But you did something nice for me so I was just returning the favor. I didn’t want to owe you. The end. Now go home.”
“I have never done anything nice for you!” I declare like he just accused me of some kind of act of treason. In a way, he kind of did.
“You stopped that client from revealing my job in front of everyone,” Tate replies. “I saw the whole damn thing, so don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“That? That wasn’t about you. That was me being selfish,” I say casually and shrug.. “I don’t want your charity.”
“And I don’t wantyourcharity,” Tate barks back. “I could have run my own interference and gotten her off the subject myself. I never asked for your help.”
“You were too busy trying to keep your pants on to help yourself,” I scoff. “You won the bet and we won’t be at the market next week.”
I start toward the barn door, and he grabs my arm again. I spin and shove him. “Do not manhandle me!”
There are supplies—timber planks piled up and a couple tool boxes—on the floor behind him and my shove makes him take a step back, which causes him to trip on the pile of stuff and he starts to fall backward. I lunge forward and grab him. He didn’t need my help and was already righting himself so my yanking causes him to lurch forward, and the next thing I know we’re chest-to-chest again. And that warm, electric feeling I would love if it was caused by anyone else in the world is swirling in my belly again. I try to take a step back but his hand is suddenly around my waist holding me in place.
“You just can’t stop saving me, can you?” he asks but his voice is low and gruff and filled with a husky tone I haven’t heard before.
“If you impale yourself on a plank I can’t…my leverage…”
God, he’s strong. Solid. Warm.
“Did you forget how to form a sentence?”
His hand slips lower. Oh God.I like it.
“I’m not taking your charity. The end,” I say, acting like I don’t feel the hand that is firmly palming my ass now. I want to applaud myself for sounding so unaffected. My pulse is racing, my blood is heated, my girl parts are dancing—and my hands are slipping down his chest, fingertips riding over every ripple of toned flesh under his T-shirt.
“Fine. You lost today.” He tilts his head just the slightest bit to the left and inches a millimeter closer. He has a good neck. I’ve never said that about a guy before but I’m staring at his, and it’s long and thick and perfectly tan.
I find myself leaning into him, moving closer to his neck. It’s pure and utter insanity. He’s done it. Tate Adler has caused me to lose my mind. He tilts his head further the closer I get and then I feel his breath ghost my own neck and then his lips skim the shell of my ear. “You and your family better not be anywhere near the booth next Sunday. You lost. I won.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “So stop being nice to me.”
“Fine…if you tell me the truth.” His lips skim along my jaw, the graze of his stubble creating ripples of heat on my skin. The desire igniting in me could probably light this barn on fire. Again. “Why did you really do it? Stop that woman from exposing my job today?”
“Because you had this look on your face of pure panic and impending doom. The look of someone who could see their world crumbling. Your face looked like Daisy’s did when we woke up and found our dad collapsed on the kitchen floor after his stroke,” I confess. “No one should feel the way that look says they feel. Even you.”
His lips stop moving. Now they’re just pressed to my cheek ever so lightly and I want to press my skin against them but I don’t. Then he speaks, his lips still against my skin so its muffled but I not only hear but feel every word. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about your dad. That you went through that.”
