Honestly, I’m not sure I’d care if he is a psycho as long as he’s willing to clean toilets.
But there’s one more thing I need to resolve between us.
I lift my chin. “You should have told me.”
I don’t have to explain what I’m referring to.
“You’re right. I know, and I’m sorry.”
I nod and glance down at his mud-splattered boots, unable to hold his steady gaze.
“But I can’t be too sorry.” His voice is a low rumble. “I wanted you too.”
Startled, I lift my gaze to his. His face is inscrutable, unsmiling, serious.
“I still do,” he adds.
Something flips low in my belly, a sensation I haven’t experienced in a long time, if ever.
Attraction. Lust. Maybe respect for a worthy adversary.
I might be desperate and pathetic, and he’s probably full of shit, but his words make me feel . . . they make mefeel. He definitely wasn’t faking that monster erection last night, and I haven’t felt desirable in a long time. A really, really, really long time.
“Okay.”
His brows lift in surprise.
He wants work? I can make that happen.
“We can meet at the main house after sunset for your”—I wave a hand—“interrogation or whatever. We’ll meet on the por—in the office.” I almost suggested the porch again, not wanting to have him in the house, but what a bad idea that would be. The location of theincident.
Clearly, my brain is malfunctioning due to lack of sleep and surplus of stress. Heat spreads through my cheeks.
This is just business.
He nods. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll bring you a list of chores. While you’re waiting, you can get started by cleaning the outhouse. Some guests last week thought it was still usable.” I grimace. “And they didn’t quite make it in the hole.”
He gapes at me in horrified disbelief.
I turn away to hide my chuckle. “I’m kidding. Lighten up, Archer,” I call over my shoulder.
ChapterSix
Archer
“What are you doing?”
I’m crouched behind a dryer, examining the thermal fuse.
Finley stands in the open doorway, glaring down at me, resembling an angry kitten in her faded jeans, a red flannel, and tan work boots.
I’m not sure what’s more amusing: Finley taking great pleasure in ordering me around, having me do menial and disgusting tasks for the past couple of days, or Finley getting more and more frustrated that I’ve been meeting her demands without complaint.
My current round of tasks has been washing all the sheets for cabins one through three in what Finley referred to as the laundry chalet, but it’s really an old, windowless, and dusty shed with a few naked bulbs dotting the ceiling. There are three sets of washers and dryers, but one of the dryers is out of service, so I pushed it away from the wall to access the back panel.
I would love to be able to fix it, if only to get Finley’s eyes to flash at me again.