Page 28 of Craving Consequences

That all only changed when Van and Lauren moved to town two years later.

My friendship with Lauren brought Lachlan, Van and Bron into my orbit. Seeing Van and Lachlan together, side by side, fictional men come to life, had been a thrill, but still I knew the rules — they were off limits. Look but don’t touch. At the time, I had my parents and Lauren and no interest in dating anyone anyway.

Then my parents died, and my world fell apart. Walking into an empty house and expecting them there had shredded me. Left me in so many pieces I couldn’t even function.

In all that mess, Bron materialized into my life. I woke up one day and he was everywhere, a relentless fly always hovering just out of reach. He refused to accept my rejections. Refused to go away until I gave him a chance. And it had been nice in the beginning. He showered me with attention and affection. He made me think I needed him, and for a year I was so desperate not to be alone, I allowed him to dismantle me just to feel whole.

His father and Van did the opposite.

They put me together. They lifted me up and protected me. They reminded me that it was okay to be happy.

And I was happy. So happy ... with them.

Tucked in the driver’s seat of my dad’s old Honda Civic, I watch Lachlan heft a bag of concrete into the back of a flatbed like it weighs nothing. Dust clings to his tatted arms and throat,sweat tracking through the grit that paints his skin. He barks orders over the rumble of engines and the clatter of tools, his voice sharp and commanding. The authority of someone used to being obeyed.

“Get those pallets secured. We’re not losing another damn bag on the highway,” he growls, jerking his stubbled chin towards one of the younger men fumbling with the straps. “And someone check the tailgate.”

He moves with the lethal ease of someone who spent his life breaking his body for a living. Tall, broad, with hands wrapped in calluses and scars. His shirt is dark with sweat and pulls tight across his chest each time he hauls another fifty-pound bag over one shoulder.

From across the ocean of crushed gravel, I watch him. I shouldn’t. God, I really shouldn’t, but he’s my Roman Empire. The hill I would die on. Him and Van. They are my Achilles heel.

Lachlan is a force of nature. Hard edges, sun kissed skin and that quiet, dangerous intensity that coils low in my stomach.

I grip the folder tighter in my lap, trying to focus on the rec center forms I need him to sign. That’s why I’m here. A simple task. Nothing more. My job.

His voice cuts through the air again, sharp and final. “If you can’t lift it, step back and let someone else do it.”

The crew scatters under his glare, moving faster. He wipes a forearm across his brow, the line of his jaw tightening ashe reaches for another bag. Every movement is a study in grit and precision. Power barely unleashed.

I can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes. It’s not very loud. Barely a noise at all, yet as if pulled by some invisible thread, his attention pivots to me.

His eyes find my car.

Find me.

And like someone flipped a switch, everything about him shifts.

The scowl drops. His shoulders realign. The hard edges he wore for his crew smooths to a quiet calm. He straightens, dragging his hand through his messy hair.

No point lurking like a creep anymore, I open my door and slowly ease out on unsteady legs. The folder presses into my chest like a shield even as his gaze drags over me. Not with hunger, but with a careful intensity, like he’s assessing for injuries.

“Everly,” he says, voice low and almost gentle. The polar opposite of the tone he’d used with the men. “Everything okay?”

I make my way to him, closing all that safe distance until I’m standing before him. A kitten next to a bear.

“Good morning, Mr. Shaw. I ... I brought the forms ... for the rec center. The paperwork,” I babble in a mess of words.

His warm, brown eyes drop to the folder getting crushed in my arms. He nods once before taking a step closer, and I swear, the air thickens. It solidifies and all I can feel is the heatcoming off him. His scent hits me, sawdust, sun, sweat, and something clean underneath it all. It wraps around my ribs and squeezes.

It’s so wrong. Horribly inappropriate.

But when he looks at me like that, like I’m the only soft thing in his world, I forget every reason I shouldn’t want him.

Lachlan doesn’t say anything right away. He just reaches out and takes the folder from my hands. Our fingers brush and the jolt of it shoots up my arm. It elicits a sharp intake of air I’m not quick enough to stifle that draws his darkened gaze to my face.

I flash him a quick smile like I’m not a terrible person and he’s silent, but I can feel the gravity of his thoughts before he turns away with my folder in hand.

“Come on,” he murmurs from over his shoulder.

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