Page 14 of The Christmas Blueprint

Her usual soft, husky voice that had always lured him crackled with determination.

He couldn’t help it. He straightened. “Reporting for duty, sir!” Oops, too many military movies and stories over beers when Enrique and Hunter were on leave burned his ears. “Ma’am,” he amended, going for the full, aw-shucks grin that had always gotten him off the hook with so many women in the past.

Sophia’s lovely, classic features darkened. Her winged black brows that had always reminded him of the beautiful ravens he had loved to watch in flight descended and her onyx eyes sparked in indignation.

“Think you’re so funny, soldier who never served anyone but himself.”

That hit home hard. Hunter had been nearly killed in duty. Enrique had seen more than he’d been willing or able to talk about. Killian had never had the desire to serve.

And now he’d come home as a favor to Hunter, and he’d been feeling rather self-righteous about it like he was making this huge sacrifice leaving his job and apartment when Hunter had stepped up to be a dad to his daughter he’d just met and had immediately put an end to the career he loved forever, not just a year. And Enrique had served his country and community, sacrificing his life. Sophia’s loss too was incalculable. And he stood on the sidelines mocking, and feeling sorry for himself.

“Soph,” he appealed, once again sorry and too stupid to put down the shovel and grab a pickaxe to climb out of the hole he kept digging. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say, how to apologize and admit how selfish he was being.

She squared off, hands on her hips. “Drop and give me fifty.”

*

“Soph?”

Where had that demand come from? But she kind of liked the thought of Killian Flanagan stretched out on the cement floor doing punishment push-ups. She’d felt his body. He could definitely manage a handful of traditional fitness moves. And the women in town who would hear of the heartbreaker’s return soon enough would be lining up to take their shot with him again, so they could thank her for keeping him toned and on his toes.

“Too hard?” She raised one brow and tapped her toe like time was ticking—sorry, boots. “It’s true it’s been a while since you were an athlete.”

“I had no idea you had such a mean streak.”

Neither did I.

“Enrique used to do push-ups with me sitting on his back.” Yup, she went there. “But you’ve been a student for a long time, and in a corporate cubicle,” she mused. “You probably can’t…”

And then Killian Flanagan shrugged out of his black, Nike puffer jacket and tossed it at her, then he added his cashmere light gray sweater and button-down black shirt to the pile and dropped down in front of her and began to give her a steady count of push-ups with beautiful form. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Was he even breathing hard?

Mouth dry, she stared in fascination. He wore a white T and jeans that hugged his spectacular backside. And should she be perving on Riley’s brother? No. Add in that he was Enrique’s best friend, and she really should be behaving better.

But again, no.

She’d never been good at ignoring Killian, and she really needed to do better as they’d be collaborating—professionally, of course.

He switched to one-handed push-ups on the last ten—five with his left hand and five with his right. She wondered how far his chest-beating, look-at-my-manliness testosterone surge would drive him.

He paused at fifty. Looked up at her. If he’d broken a sweat, she couldn’t see it, but then the only light was from the party lights she and Riley had set up around the trailer.

“C’mon, Soph, don’t you want to put your boot on my neck and tell me to do ten more?”

Her lips stiffened into what felt like a permanent O. Killian had always been fiery hot and the subject of much adolescent angst and fantasies—not just for her, but for more than half of their high school, but as a man he was breath-stealingly spectacular.

“I…” She couldn’t breathe. Or think. “Without my boot, I thought you’d go to one hundred.” She dug deep for poise.

“That’s generous.”

He did another ten, not even straining.

“Killian.” Heat bloomed in her chest. “You’ve proved that you still have some strength and that you’re adequate.”

“Adequate?” He popped to his feet and peered at her. Okay, he did have a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He speared his flop of chestnut hair, which used to have gold highlights in the summer, out of his eyes. “Just adequate?”

Adequate was not an adjective that had likely been lobbed in Killian’s direction at any point in time. He’d always been the oldest, wicked smart, talented at anything he touched and oh so handsome. And he knew it. Riley had worshipped him. His dad, not so much. She remembered he’d said he was arrogant, wanting more from life.

He seemed seriously affronted, and Sophia laughed. She missed that. Men being men. Now they acted neutered around her. No teasing. No flirting. So polite. Distant. Vaguely alarmed like she was a land mine somewhere in their field.

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