“Because I want to.”
She goes quiet for a long time, like she doesn’t know what to make of me. After a while, she gives a slow shake of her head. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“My name is Alyssa.”
“Alyssa,” I say, trying it out on my tongue and liking the way it sounds. It’s soft and sweet like her. “Can I call you Aly?” I ask.
Her grin is cute, innocently seductive when she arches a brow and flat out says, “No.”
3
Alyssa
I steal a glance at Alek as he wipes his forehead with his forearm and puts his hat back on, covering his sexy mess of dark hair. His muscles flex and relax again as he wrestles the heavy apple tree from the pot and plants it in the ground. I totally get the appeal of a hot guy doing manual labor. There should be an Olympic category for this kind of perfection.
Even though it’s my job, he sort of took over the second we arrived, refusing to let me lift anything or do any of the heavy work. Apparently, he’s still worried I might have a concussion, and more than once this afternoon, I caught him standing a little too close, his gaze roaming my face like he was checking for signs of a head injury. For a girl who’s always done everything herself, always took care of everyone else, his concern is throwing me off my game. I’m not saying I don’t like it, though…it’s just that it’s confusing the heck out of me.
I lean on my shovel and grin as I watch him work. It’s not my birthday, and it’s certainly isn’t Christmas—not even Christmas in July—so I can’t help but wonder what I did in a past life to deserve this kind of help—from a smoking hot stranger.
He’s also cute, funny, and strong—and so far, he’s not really showing any signs that he might be a serial killer, not that I’d know the signs anyway and there is something about him that’s trustworthy and puts me at ease. Strange really, as I’m not one to trust easily. The truth is, if I were in the market for a guy, I’d be all over that deliciousness. It’s odd really. Rolling up the sleeves to help is the kind of thing I’d expect from country folk, not city boys. Maybe chivalry is still alive outside of Bridgetown, or Alek here is just an anomaly.
“How does this look?” he asks, and lifts his head to catch me staring at his broad back. I turn my focus to the fruit tree he’s holding upright in the big hole he insisted on digging, while I filled in the others. When a client has a change of heart and wants to move things around, you move things around, despite the fact that you’d already spent hours digging up the backyard.
“The trunk is crooked. Move it a little to the right.” I say. He readjusts the tree. “Mmm, I think you’ve gone too far. A little to the left now.” He does as I ask, and I think it’s still off kilter a bit. “Right again.”
He casts me a quick glance. “If you’re fucking with me,” he grumbles, a playful look in his eyes as he gives the tree a little nudge.
I’m not normally flirty with guys, but I decide to play along. “What if I am?” I ask, and plant my dirty gloved hand on my coveralls. “What are you going to do about it?”
What do you want him to do about it, Alyssa?
“You really want to know, Aly?”
He’s pushing my buttons to get a reaction out of me, and I have to say, I never liked it when people shortened my name—until now. “Yeah, I want to know.”
His grin is so deliciously naughty my heart pounds a little harder. “Come on over here and I’ll show you.”
“I’m coming over there, but it’s to plant the tree, and you can’t show me anything with your hands full.”
“Wait until they’re not,” he says, the promise in his voice teasing the needy spot between my legs.
I chuckle, loving the easy comradery between us, and toss the shovel aside. I hold his gaze as I drop to my knees in front of him. His eyes go wide and his throat makes a sound as he swallows. It’s so damn loud it drowns out the bird chirping in the tree a few feet away.
“What…what are you doing?” he asks.
“Putting soil around the trunk.” What the hell is the matter with him? Those gorgeous brown eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. I shuffle on my knees. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Um…well…”
He swallows again and I instantly realize that I’m on my knees in front of him, my mouth perfectly aligned with his…trunk, I groan, and back up an inch.
“Oh, my, God,” I grumble and grab fistfuls of the soil and start filling the hole.
Don’t think about his parts, Alyssa. Concentrate on the job at hand.
Great, now I’m thinking about parts, and hands, and jobs, or rather hand jobs. What the hell is the matter with me? When was the last time a guy threw me off like this?