Page 10 of Irresistible Silver Fox

My dad's face breaks into a proud smile. "Oh, that's wonderful. You know, Zak is a great guy. I know he can look intimidating, but deep down, he's a real softie.”

"Yeah, very, very deep down," I murmur with a smirk.

My dad shakes his head, laughing. "So what do you think of the house? It's a beautiful spot, isn't it?"

Images flood my mind - the tranquil beach just steps away, the majestic sunsets that light the horizon in a blaze of neon hues. "It's stunning," I add, aware of the awe in my voice. "One thing I don't understand, though," I continue, hoping my father would be a good source of information, "is why Zak cares about it so much. My understanding is that he owns many properties in this town; why is he so fixed on rebuilding this one by himself? It's insane; I mean, I'm sure there are builders or other people that he could hire to get the job done quickly."

My father pauses, his eyes distant and almost wistful. "That isn't my story to tell, Iz," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

I roll my eyes. "Brilliant, so I'm working with the guy on the house, and I have no idea why."

My father looks as if he is reconsidering for a moment; I rock on my feet, hopeful. But then he shakes his head in decision.

"Like I said, it's not my story to tell." With a final nod, he leaves me alone in the kitchen with my thoughts.

Zak

I've gotten used to picking Izzie up for work each morning. We've fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the last couple of weeks. She even started bringing an extra piece of fruit and oat bar to the car after she noticed that I usually skip breakfast. The day after she found out, when she gently handed me the oat bar, my heart swelled. We'd both eaten our snacky car breakfasts in comfortable silence. Slowly, she was chipping away at the ice that has encased my heart; I’m not sure that I know how to stop it. Or if I want to stop it. Neither of us has said a word about the breakfast, but it is definitely her way of extending the proverbial olive branch.

When we’re in the house, the radio in the kitchen is usually playing some feel-good music as we work mostly in silence. It’s mostly harmonious because we generally work in separate rooms - an arrangement I personally insisted on, as when we are too close, I can feel my will power dissipate, and the uncontrollable temptation to grab her and kiss her very nearly takes over every time.

The intimate rides to work are already painful enough; sometimes, she wears shorts when it’s hot, and seeing her bare thighs in the passenger seat drives me crazy. I get so turned on just watching her mouth bite into the apple I feel like a teenager.

We argue quite a bit as well, particularly if we happen to be working in the same room at the same time. It seems as though Izzie makes it a point to always take the position diametrically opposed to mine. It seems to me that she takes great pleasure in disagreeing with me and psychopathically enjoys causing me frustration.

Despite all that, I have to admit that Izzie makes a surprisingly excellent employee. When Dave said she had the right skill set for the job, I had my reservations and only really expected her to offer a helping hand a couple of times a week. But, as it turns out, she is fantastic at woodwork and painting, and I need her abilities most days. I also enjoy her company; just hearing her humming as she works makes me feel less alone.

She’s expertly sketched out a beautiful mural in the "Moon Room," and it is nothing short of extraordinary. Izzie aptly named the room - a name I initially protested, but it has eventually grown on me. I realized I was using the name myself unironically. Before I let her paint in her outline, I asked her to sand down the doors and some old chairs for the dining area. She completed those tasks without any argument, but it became very evident how passionate she was about getting started on her painting. I wanted to get her doing those other tasks first, as I had a feeling that once she started to work on the mural, there would be no stopping her.

I'd decided that today I would tell her she could start working on it. I will be working on fitting some cabinets in the kitchen. She beams when I let her know in the car that today I want her working on the mural; she practically runs inside the house and gets to work right away.

Watching from a distance, stepping into the room briefly to watch her progress, I’m aware of her unstinting focus. She skips coffee and lunch breaks in her eagerness. I watch her with awe; her blue eyes shine with intent as she inspects each paint stroke, ensuring it is perfect. She'd completed around a fifth of the mural when I enter again later in the day.

"Iz," my voice rings out, "it's seven already, so if I am to stop working, you must, too." She pauses mid-stroke holding her brush, and looks back at me. Her hair has become gently saturated by the humid air, and the evening sun highlights the brilliance and slightly crazed look in her eyes. She has never looked more beautiful. She gracefully steps down from her small ladder, nodding her acknowledgment.

"Yeah, probably time to stop." She blinks slowly a few times and looks away and out the window.

I stretch up, catching Izzie’s dazed eyes lazily gazing at my exposed midriff. I feel the blood rush downstairs instantly. The attraction between us has to be unnatural. The realization that my presence has such an effect on her turns me on so much.

I clear my throat and catch a glimpse of the soft blush on her cheeks before she diverts her gaze upwards, inspecting the ceiling closely.

"I'm going to order some takeout. Do you want to join me if you don't have any other plans?" I ask.

Her surprise is evident through her expression. "I-uh, yes, sure," she utters hesitantly. Leaning forward, I can’t help asking, "Why are you so surprised?” I feel slightly offended that she was taken aback by my offer to buy her some food after she’d worked so hard all day.

"Well, usually we finish work, and you might grunt a few times before driving me home. Welcoming Zak is a surprise to see." Her honesty is refreshing. "But it's nice," she adds quickly.

I purse my lips and hold back a witty reply. I feel pressure behind my ribcage. Am I really so gruff with her? People often note my brusque demeanor, but with Izzie, I feel so natural I didn't realize I was still being hostile. I make a silent pledge to try to be more inviting toward her, uncertain of why her opinion of me matters so much. But I know that I don’t want her to think I am a stern, unlikeable man.

We sit together on the beach on a large blanket we'd laid out to use for lunch or little breaks. We wait for the Thai takeout I'd ordered; since the house was so far from town, they said it would be at least an hour until it arrived. I'd asked Izzie if that was okay with her, and she shrugged, saying that it was fine.

"So," I begin, "it’s a Saturday night, shouldn't you have, like, plans with friends? Or a hot date or something?"

Izzie scoffs, the sand shifting beneath her elbows as she leans back and looks up at the stars. "Not likely," she sighs.

"Why not?" I ask, intrigued.

She chuckles, her laughter trailing off into the cool evening air. "To be honest, I'm not used to being in these small towns," she begins . "I grew up in Cali with my grandparents when my dad was on the road with you guys and your team. After college, I stayed there--surrounded by people and events, not small bars that have the same ten people in them every night."

---