But I’m not so lost that I don’t notice Tessa. Instead of sitting back and watching, she’s made herself useful by gathering up the split pieces and stacking them neatly with the others.
I don’t draw attention to it because it’s best if I don’t draw attention to her at all. Not with the way my body is reacting to her mere presence, so I pretend not to notice and keep splitting wood, each swing of the axe stronger than the last.
Soon, I’m overheating, and without thinking, I strip out of my shirt and toss it to the side with my jacket before continuing with the task.
I’m mid-swing when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the familiar flannel land in the pile with my own shirt and jacket.
Somehow, I manage to finish the swing without chopping my foot off and turn just in time to see Tessa pulling her T-shirt up and over her head.
My eyes lock on the black satin bra and her firm, round tits spilling out of the cups right as she shakes her blonde hair free fromthe shirt and adds it to the pile of clothes in the corner.
“What the hell are you doing?” I move for the discarded clothing. “Put your shirt back on.”
“Why?” She puts her hands on her hips and thrusts her tits out. “You don’t like what you see?”
The raging hard-on in my jeans is evidence that I very much like what I see, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Tessa.” My voice holds a warning as I hold out the shirt and lock onto her eyes, refusing to look at her amazing tits again.
Her eyes dart down to my crotch, and when she looks up again, her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “I think youdolike what you see.”
She takes a step toward me. Just one, but she might as well be standing inches away from me, given the way my body is rioting. She tilts her head, and her long blond hair spills over one shoulder to tease the top of her smooth breast. “Besides, you don’t have a shirt on.”
Her eyes travel down my body, reminding me that I am also shirtless. It’s something I do without thinking when Ichop wood. Of course, I don’t usually have an audience.
“That’s different.”
Her lips quirk. She knows she’s getting to me, pushing me to my limit.
“Tessa,” I say again. “I mean it. Put your shirt back on.”
She spins around so quickly that for a moment I think she might actually do as I say, and a flash of unreasonable disappointment flares through me at the thought of her covering up those gorgeous tits. But before I can declare my victory, she bends to pick up a piece of wood and sticks that legging-clad peach of an ass out. She takes her time picking up the split sticks, wiggling and swaying with the movement, before turning and looking at me over her shoulder. “And if I don’t,” she says, “will youmakeme?”
My grip tightens on the shirt she won’t take.
Every instinct in me screams to shut this down as quickly as I can and put distance between us before I do something that can’t be undone.
But she’s not backing down.
She’s standing again, watching me now.Reallywatching. Like she’s waiting to seewhich part of me wins: the man who knows better or the man who wants her.
She’s provoking me on purpose, testing the edges of my restraint and pushing to see how far I’ll go before I snap.
Like it’s a game to her.
But something in the way she’s looking at me tells me it’s not a game at all.
Still, she’s a brat, and she’s way over her head with me.
But the worst part is…she has no idea how badly I want to give her exactly what she’s asking for.
Tessa
I can’t even believe myself.
I’ve never been so bold with a man before. And I’ve definitely never been so sassy before.
But there’s something about Holt that makes it easy to push the limits.
