It makes no difference. The dress got my attention, fed my dirtiest fantasies, but this outfit? This is familiar. I know this Andrea, work with her every day.
And now that I’ve seen her naked, seen her in skintight dresses, now that I’ve touched that perfect body, I still notice every inch of her even when she’s masking herself with terrible clothing. I want her even more now than I did yesterday.
Fuck, what did she even say to me? I was too busy fantasizing about fucking her right here in this field to register her words.
“What are you doing here?” I say, giving up hope I’ll remember and launching my own topic instead.
Andrea raises a brow in scorn and folds to her arms over her chest. “We need to talk about last night. I figured it would be better to do that here instead of in the office where one of the men might overhear us.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“For God’s sake, of course there is.”
Women and their perpetual need to dissect every little interaction between two people. Why can’t they just be more like men, pretend it never happened, and never speak of it again? No need to get bogged down in unimportant details.
I mirror her body language, my arms folded across my chest. “Why don’t you go ahead and spill it, then.”
“Really? You think I’m the one who needs to say something about last night?”
“Obviously. I’m the one who said there’s nothing to talk about, and you’re the one who keeps pushing to discuss it. So speak.”
“Fine. I want to know why you stole me away from your brother last night and then practically attacked me in the office.”
“I didn’t attack you,” I snap.
“Oh, so you do have something to say about last night after all?”
“All I mean is that I didn’t attack you. All I did was kiss you, for fuck’s sake.”
“Our relationship has never been anything but professional, and then one night you kiss me completely out of the blue. Grab me clear off the ground, even. I want to know why.”
“I was drunk.”
“That’s not an excuse and you know it. Were you just fucking with me, doing it to mess with your brother, or—”
“I didn’t do it to piss off Noah.” Christ, the very last thing on my mind as I ground into her was my fucking brother.
“So were you just fucking with me then? Thought you’d even the scales after I won our bet?”
I glare at her, offended by her insinuation. I step toward her, closing the distance until we’re practically chest to chest. Well, more like chest to cheek, she’s so much shorter than me. “I could ask the same of you.”
“W-what?”
“You tell everyone out of the blue that you have a date after we’ve made our little bet, and it just so happens to be with my brother. What are the odds of that? Seems like if anyone is messing with someone, it’s you.”
“That date was planned a week ago!”
I stare at her, because if that’s the case, then Noah really likes her, and I’m an even bigger asshole than I already thought. Fuck.
“I can’t do this, Andrea. You’re too important.”
“T-too important?”
“To the farm. Your work is invaluable. I can’t fuck that up by messing around with you. If we did, and it ended poorly, I’d never be able to find anyone who could do the work you do without making me feel like an idiot just because I can’t.”
“Axel,” Andrea says sadly. “There are plenty of people who could help you without making you feel that way. I’m not unique in that.”
“Yes, you are. I’m stupid about a lot of things, but even I know not to mess with this.”
“Axel, you’re not stupid.”
I look away, unable to see the devastation on her face. I don’t think I’m stupid, not really, just dumb about certain things. Like everyone else. Unlike everyone else, I’m actually willing to admit that about myself.
“So … you didn’t want to kiss me?” she finally asks after a long pause.
“No.”
“No? Just … no?”
“Tell me, Andrea. Am I a straight shooter?”
Her brows knit in confusion. “What? Of course. You’re always very straightforward. Some would say too straightforward.”
“And of all the women I’ve been with, have you ever heard them saying I led them on with my intentions?”
Andrea winces slightly as she remembers all the rumors women have spread about me over the years. “No. You’re always brutally clear on the fact that you don’t want anything other than casual sex.”
“So, if both of those things are true, do you really think I kissed you when I didn’t want to?”
Her eyes widen in surprise as she finally gets it. She drops her gaze, face slowly turning a rather becoming shade of pink. “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh.’ I’m a simple man. I do what I want, and I say what I mean. Furthermore, I mean what I say. Sometimes, I make a mistake, but rest assured, I mean it when I make that mistake.”
“So you …” Andrea trails off, an unsure look on her face.
Apparently, I need to make this explicit. “Andrea. I kissed you because I wanted to. I kissed you because I couldn’t help it anymore. I kissed you because I had to. And you know what?” I wait until I’m sure she’s staring at me, her breath hitching unsteadily. Then, only when I’m sure she’ll hear every single word I utter, I whisper, “I liked it. I liked it a fucking lot. And if, as I just said, I didn’t already know it was a mistake the first time, I’d do it again. And again. And again.”
“Axel—”
“And you know what else I think? You liked it too.”
Andrea stares up at me, her lips slightly parted, her breath fluttering against my face in sexy little gasps. My gaze zeroes in on that red mouth. I tasted that mouth, stroked my tongue inside, tasted its perfection. I know it’s stupid to have such thoughts about my employee. I know I literally just said I can’t afford to mess up our working relationship, but I just can’t seem to stop myself. I want her.
We’re frozen, locked in the heat of each other’s gaze as passion leaks into Andrea’s expression; she doesn’t even try to hide it. Desire punches through me. All I can think about is that I want her, need her, have to taste her again.
“Say it.”
“Axel …”
“Say it. I want to hear you say it, just this once,” I rasp.
Andrea’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. She swallows hard past the lump in her throat. “I liked it too.”
Chapter Eleven
I cheat. There’s no way I’m capable of throwing a party for anyone, let alone employees that bug the shit out of me more often than not. So, even though I lost the bet, I don’t plan the party. Instead, I get Rory Larson to do it. She needs to do something to prove herself as the new manager of this section of this farm, and virtually anyone on the planet will be better at planning said party than I would be. As far as I see it, it’s a win-win for all involved.
Jackson still gets all pissy, proclaiming I’m abusing his new girlfriend, but I don’t give a shit. I’m too busy trying to avoid Andrea to care about pissing off my brother yet again.
After our little interlude in the field, both of us avoid each other for the rest of the week. I need to, in order to act on my conviction that there can’t be anything between us. For the next few days, weeks, months, I have to spend as little time with her as possible until this attraction dies. Things can go back to normal when I can look at her and not think about fucking her from behind. Or in any fashion.
It’s a two-way street. Andrea scrams whenever she sees me coming near her. It annoys the fuck out of me, but I know she’s right, so I try not to let it bother me. Three times, though, she literally leaves the farm in the middle of the day for no discernible reason. The first time I barely notice, the second I watch her drive off in irritation. But on Thursday, the third time she disappears, I’m forced to talk to her for th
e first time that week. Things might be weird between us, but she can’t just fuck off whenever she wants. There’s still work to be done.
When I confront her, she gives me some cagey answer about fixing the Howard situation. I leave it at that. No way in hell am I discussing that shit show now on top of all the other drama unfolding in this place. As far as I’m concerned, she can have at it, and I’ll just enter the picture for the formal interviews. It’s not like she’s going to pick someone terrible.
I can’t even imagine what’s going to happen when she finishes those financial numbers and I’ll have to confront those, too. She’s got me too messed up to even locate my head from my ass, let alone do math. Something has to give, but I don’t know what that is. Christ, I shouldn’t have kissed her.
So we fall into weird, super-distant communication. The men sense it. A few of them even ask what I did to her. I snap at Morris precisely once before the questions stop. This new MO for the farm is an unpleasant one, but I can handle it. We all can.
But then Andrea shows up for the party.
She’s wearing another dress. This one is yellow, so cheerfully bright it almost hurts to look at her. Somehow, for some inexplicable yet entirely logical reason my male brain cannot fully articulate, the color matches her perfectly.
The red dress was pure sex, any red-blooded male’s fantasy, but this one is sweeter, classier. It hugs her chest, tightens around her waist, and flares out in a full skirt that falls at her knees. The dress is long-sleeved, but the material is thin and gauze-like, so that it simply floats along her body.
I can’t look away.
I should. I should look elsewhere, anywhere, wherever it won’t end in my screwing a woman I’ve already determined I can’t have. And I try, I do. I make every effort to ignore how much I want my accountant. I fail dismally.
Fortunately, as the host of this party—allegedly—I’ve got far too much to do to have time for ogling Andrea. At least, according to Rory, I do, when every five seconds she’s asking me annoying shit like where should we put the food table? Should she get more beer out of the fridge? Do I want to use actual plates, or should we just get paper ones?
As if these miscreants deserve to eat on my mother’s good china. Only my wife will ever use that. Not that I’ll have a wife anytime soon, of course. Or ever.
Still, Rory’s questions manage to distract me from the yellow dress, for which I’m hideously grateful. That is, until Noah shows up a few minutes later, making a beeline for Andrea.
I didn’t invite Noah. I didn’t invite anyone except my employees, Rory, and Jackson—and only him because he’s pretty much a package deal with Rory now.
But this other brother? The one whose days are already numbered from moving in on my Andrea? He’s definitely party crashing.
Jackson, who’s been sticking close to my side the whole evening and nagging me about my allegedly stupid decision to fire Howard, takes one look at my face and cackles.
“Nathan told me you were pissed at Noah, but I thought he was full of shit until this moment.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“I most certainly will not. This is fucking great. I’ve never seen you hung up on a woman before in my entire life. The sex must be stellar.” Instead of wilting under my furious gaze, like he damn well should, Jackson just laughs again, this time even louder than before. “Oh, you haven’t even fucked her yet. That’s even better.”
“If you don’t shut your mouth real fast, I’ll shut it for you.”
“Oooh, so scary. I’m positively quaking in my boots. What are you, five?”
“Keep talking, and you’ll find out my exact age when my fist smashes into your face with the full force of thirty-three years on this planet.” I return my attention to Noah and Andrea, stewing as I take another sip of my lemonade. I learned my lesson after the bar incident; alcohol and Andrea do not mix.
“Now, Axel. She’s here with Noah. Like before, if you recall. Don’t go stealing her away again.”
“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” I snap. “It’s my party.”
“Please. It’s Rory’s party, Mr. This-Is-My-Farm-Because-You-Don’t-Work-Here.”
Andrea and Noah make their way over to another drink table and strike up a conversation with some of my employees, who can’t take their eyes off her. Noah, the little shit, bends down to whisper something in her ear, ostensibly to offer a drink since after she replies he ladles some lemonade for her.
Looks like I’m not the only one avoiding the hard stuff.
There’s such an ease between them, an effortlessness in the way they talk to each other, that I’m consumed by irrational rage. No. Jealousy. If I have to watch another minute of them, I will hurl up this drink or hit something. Maybe even both.
It’s a foreign emotion, jealousy. I don’t need more than I already have, and everything I have is the result of the fruits of my hard labor. I simply don’t do coveting.
But standing there, watching my brother have something I’m discovering I want more myself every day, I finally learn the cold, brutal meaning of envy.
Suddenly, Noah glances up and locks gazes with me. It’s deliberate. Andrea might be clueless, but Noah has been fully aware of me the entire time. He whispers something else to Andrea, his eyes never leaving mine. She nods, still engaged with Morris, who’s telling her some story that he probably believes is riveting but is surely utterly mind-numbing.
Noah makes his way toward me. I straighten, placing my cup on the table behind me and folding my arms over my chest. I feel more than see Jackson stiffening next to me.
“Axel …”
“No, Jackson. This is between me and Noah.”
Jackson frowns in disapproval but says nothing. We remain silent as Noah threads his way toward us.
“Jackson, how you doing, man?”
Jackson pulls Noah in for a bear hug, slapping him on the back. “Great, buddy. What’s up with you?”
“Oh, not much. Nothing that concerns you, anyway. Axel, on the other hand, is a different story.”
“Is that so?” I say, glaring at him.
“Yeah, it is. I want to know what the hell is going on between you and Andrea.”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been eye-fucking her from the moment she arrived. Here’s the thing. If you’re really interested in her, you need to let me know, because—”
“I’m not interested in—”
“—if that’s the case, I’m not going to see her anymore. I like her well enough; Andrea is a nice girl—pretty, even—but she’s nothing special. She’s not worth getting into a pissing contest with my own brother.”
That fucker. I should kill him for saying that. “Andrea is special enough, you stupid fuck. I don’t want to hear you speak about her like that ever again, or I’ll rip your fucking face off.”
“I rest my case. I’ll leave you to her.”
Noah smirks; Jackson roars with laughter. Fuck, not this shit again. Noah just wanted to provoke me into revealing whether or not I really liked her. And I, the stupid shit, played right into his hands.
I always forget that Noah is the shrewdest one of us.
“It’s not like that,” I mumble. “She’s my employee. It’s wrong. I need her for her financial brain.”
Noah rolls his eyes, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Ax, I love you, man, but that’s stupidity talking. This isn’t a Fortune 500 company or the House of Representatives. It’s a fucking peach farm. You’re the king of the castle. If you like her, do something about it. She can handle fucking you and fucking finance. Assuming she’s interested, of course.”
I glare at him.
Noah smirks, peering over at the woman in question who’s laughing at something Rory’s saying. “True. Probably not something you need to worry about.”
“You speak as if you know something we don’t,” Jackson says, sipping his bourbon.
&nbs
p; Noah shrugs a shoulder, the picture of casualness. “Maybe.”
“What’s that?” I say.
He just laughs. “Later, bros.”
Damn him and his retreating self. Only Noah could say something like “later, bros” and not come off completely ridiculous. He heads back over to Andrea, his hand lightly touching her back. She glances up at him. He says something unintelligible and she frowns slightly, then nods. Noah shakes the hands of the men milling around her, then, with a final nod to Jackson and me, heads for his car.
I half expect him to sling a cowboy hat over his head and whistle off into the sunset.
“Why do I always feel like Noah could be a super-villain but chooses not to?” muses Jackson.
“Because that’s entirely correct.”
Jackson makes a face, but says nothing. Everyone in our family knows that Noah belongs more in a Bond film than in our sleepy little town in Georgia. Who knows why he’s still here.
Who knows what he even does.
But that’s a mystery for another day. I’m certainly not going to be the one to solve the riddle that is Noah King. Jackson finishes his drink and slaps the glass down on the table. Turning to me, he places his hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake.
“Well, I think Rory and I are going to head out.”
“What? You just got here.”
“Yep. And you know what? I could be fucking her right now. Rory’s excited that you’re letting her run her part of the farm, but neither she nor I want to hang around with your men when we could be—you know.”
“You can’t just leave. I need help with the garbage shit after everyone leaves.”
Jackson throws an exaggerated glance toward Andrea. “I think you could probably wrangle some help.”
I follow his gaze to Andrea, who’s staring at me. Jackson winks and then heads for Rory, who’s moved on to meddle with the food. She smiles at him as he approaches, then takes his hand as he tugs her toward the cars. Andrea still stares at me.
Maybe I’m going to need a drink, after all.
Chapter Twelve
Devil (King Brothers #2) Page 7
