Page 19 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

“You see a woman and think she’ll be putty in your hands.”

I grin at her generalization. “And you’re determined to prove me wrong about that.”

She comes closer, shoving me gently to direct me to move down the wall. “Don’t stress yourself out further, Caleb. Just give up now. You won’t get to me.”

“Why not?” I ask, not budging. “You can’t tell me this mountain is overbrimming with available men.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not looking.”

“I am.”

“You’re looking to hook up with available mountain men?”

I don’t move, looking down at her, and risk making a move. I raise my finger and wipe off a tiny flake of paint from her cheek. “I’m looking for a gorgeous woman—”

“Are you ever not looking?”

I roll my eyes. She has a point. I’ve never tried to hide the fact I like variety when it comes to women. I won’t deny I enjoy an abundance of lovers. But here, out in the middle of nowhere, I can’t consider anything else.

“Look elsewhere, then,” she warns, shoving me again.

I hold her hand, keeping her close as I step back. If I fall, I’ll damn well take her down with me. I’ve never had a chance to just talk. To tease and laugh easily like this with a woman. Much less with a woman I want with a growing and impatient desperation.

It feels good. Her hand in my mine feels even better. She stumbles, giggling, and I smile at the sweet sound. I want to hear it again. I want to be the cause of that innocent sound of laughter again.

As we right ourselves and she shoots me a dirty look for goofing off, she faces the wall again. Then blinks. And blinks again.

I lift my face toward the faint rain that sprinkles down. “Finally. A break in the heat.”

“Finally, you’ve completed your efforts to thwart my work.” She purses her lips. “So much for getting to painting today.”

“Hey, I was helping.” I swing the scraper by the handle, and she snatches it away.

“But you were talking and trying to hit on me, stalling me.”

“Well, you can’t blame the weather on me.”

She huffs and shakes her head.

I squint at the sky. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to pour.”

“I still can’t paint.”

“Then come on a hike with me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I have other things to do. I’m here to work.”

“You should go with him.”

We both turn at Marian’s voice. I didn’t realize we were standing so close together until her hair tumbles over her shoulder from the movement and the end of her ponytail brushes against my arm. I shiver at the delicate tease.

I wasn’t aware she was standing there on the porch. I wonder how long she’s been listening. I like the lady, and I don’t want her to think I’m a player, too. It feels too much like disappointment.

“I’ve got a lot to do, Marian.”

She shrugs, coming off the porch with a picnic basket. “It can wait. You’ve only just arrived.”

I raise my brows at the picnic basket she carries.

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