Page 73 of Boss of Me
I bite my lip as he tips his head back to drain the glass. Watching his strong throat muscles work sends heat curling low in my belly. He smells like sweat, dust and hardworking man. Totally delicious.
He hands the empty glass back to me. “Thanks.”
I swallow hard and nod.
His body heat invades my personal space as he stands in front of me. His black hair is dusty and rumpled, his jaw bristly with stubble. I can see his muscled pecs straining against the worn fabric of his T-shirt. The color has faded and the white longhorn logo is chipped.
Feeling more than a little intoxicated, I glance away from him, staring at the boathouse and then at the gleaming white yacht moored in the slip.Hook ’em Hornsis painted on the stern in flowing black letters, and water laps gently against the bottom. It’s the only sound between us until Gunner finally speaks, his voice low and cool.
“How was your date?”
I turn back to him, smiling brightly. “It was great. We had fun.” I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that my date was an unmitigated disaster.
“You weren’t gone very long,” he observes.
“Dawson had previous dinner plans with his parents. That’s why we met for lunch instead.” That part, at least, is true.
Gunner studies my face, his eyes narrowed and intense. It takes everything I have not to squirm like a guilty teenager caught breaking curfew.
“Are you going out with him again?”
“Maybe,” I lie.
His jaw tenses.
“Probably not,” I whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s relief or triumph. Probably the latter.
As my boss, he has the upper hand in our relationship. But I wonder if he knows just how much power he holds over me. I wonder if he knows that I shiver every time he laughs. When he smiles, I melt. When he calls me kitten, I want to curl up in his lap.
I wonder if he knows how hard I’m trying not to fall for him.
He’s still looking at me, his eyes boring into mine as if he’s waiting for something. Did he ask me a question that I missed?
“Sorry. I?—”
“Was there something else you wanted?” He sounds impatient now.
I hesitate, watching as a warm breeze blows a lock of hair across his forehead. My fingers itch to stroke it back. Under different circumstances, I might have.
“Thanks for the lemonade.” Abruptly he turns and walks away, the hard muscles of his ass flexing beneath his shorts.
I lick my dry lips. “Guess I’ll, um, let you get back to work.”
He’s already cranking the music back up, dismissing me.
Chapter Seventeen
marlowe
Shortly after six, he leaves tohave dinner with his mother and brother.
I share a quiet meal with Mrs. Calder, then head up to my room and crack open a textbook. Last month I started reading books assigned by my professors to get a jumpstart on grad school.
Curled up in my desk chair, I try to finish the chapter I started yesterday. But I can’t concentrate. The words on the page keep blurring together as thoughts of Gunner infest my brain.
Finally I give up, snap the book closed and turn on the TV. I surf channels until I find a suspense thriller on HBO Max. I half watch the movie, keeping my ears trained for the sound of Gunner returning home.
