Quickly? Quickly? I challenged myself. You’ve thought of nothing but him for the last five months.
Okay. Maybe I did feel something slightly deeper than good old-fashioned lust. But I couldn’t say exactly what it was. Not when anger, resentment, and suspicion were thrown into the soup.
But I couldn’t deny I felt jealous, which was plain stupid. Paolo had to be in his early to mid-twenties. He’d probably had quite a few girlfriends. Maybe one in every city. After all, he was an international man of mystery and not some college freshman virgin—a unicorn—like me.
“Thanks,” I said, and found a white T-shirt in the next drawer down.
“You can sleep in this bed. I’ll take the couch down here,” he said.
“What’s wrong with the bed upstairs?” I asked.
“I’ll rest easier down here, closer to you,” was all he offered.
Hadn’t he said we were safe here? If he believed it, then there was no reason for him to be on the couch.
I was about to say something, but realized I didn’t want to push him upstairs. Hell, I wanted him to sleep next to me.
“Okay.” I nodded and headed for the bathroom, avoiding the tempting view as I passed. I didn’t want to see him half-naked. Not when I needed to avoid fueling my irrational feelings for him. Besides—not that I wanted him—he was something I could never have. I’d never be the owner of that negligee. Not in his eyes. I was merely the boss’s daughter. A girl.
A…job.
~ ~ ~
Over the next two days, I could have sworn the universe was trying to torture me. Well, that or Paolo. Although, he kept his distance doing work around the cabin, chopping wood (shirtless for God’s sake) or patrolling the property, every time we got anywhere near each other he looked like he wanted to devour me, which sent me into a spiral of unsanctioned lustful thoughts, which shut down all brain function. Then his gaze would run the whole gamut of aggressive expressions—irritation, anger, frustration, and disgust—leaving me feeling like a sad little puddle of unrequited lust. Then we’d both retreat to our corners.
When we ate, he avoided eye contact almost completely. When I asked him if he had any news, he simply answered “no” and then disappeared outside or upstairs.
I didn’t know what the hell was going on inside that man’s head, but I couldn’t spend another day, let alone another week, like this.
On the third evening, I sat on the couch, trying to look casual, curled up with a cup of tea and a book—don’t even know which damned book—waiting for his return from a perimeter sweep.
When he entered the front door, I immediately knew he’d been running or doing pull-ups on a tree branch or lifting boulders, because once again the goddamned man wore no shirt—only a pair of black drawstring shorts—and glistened with sweat. His biceps, abs, and forearms bulged with tension.
He stood in the doorway, his angry-as-fuck gaze drilling into me, his fists flexing.
I swallowed and felt the heat surge between my legs. I don’t know what it was about this man, but his smell, the sound of his breath, the mere deliciousness of being in his presence completely messed with my head.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied coldly.
“We need to talk.”
He cocked one brow and then slammed the door behind him. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” With my shaking hand, I set the book down next to my tea on the table in front of me.
“Like that,” he said with a tinge of disgust. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. It won’t work.”
“What?” I resisted standing up, and took a calming breath. “Paolo, I am not trying to do anything.”
“Do I look like a fucking idiot?” he seethed.
“I don’t know what you—”
“You’re beautiful, Dakota. Your body is a piece of fucking art, but that doesn’t mean you can use it to get what you want.”
Huh? “Which is?”
His gaze lowered to my chest and then elevated back to my eyes. “We both know you want to call your mother.”
“True, but…”
“I bet you’re used to getting what you want. But I’m not some fucking hard up college guy. I’m trying to do my job here. I’m trying to keep you safe, and every time you flirt with me or show off your body, you’re only distracting me.”
Holy shit. He thought I was trying to distract him with T-shirts and his loaner jogging shorts? Sure, I wasn’t wearing a bra and had to roll the waist down so the shorts would stay on, but…“I’m not the one prancing around shirtless and showing off my giant muscles, Paolo. Seriously. Do you ever stop working out? How fucking big is your ego if you need to pump iron every hour?”
He growled. “I’m only blowing off steam. Steam that would otherwise go toward taking you to that bed and fucking you senseless which would only get us both killed.” He turned and yanked open the front door, disappearing into the night.