She fanned faster.
“You might be our first guest up here this year.”
Carefully, she moved closer to the bathroom door. On the one hand, she did not need to see him being handy and stuff, doing things with wrenches and whatever. But on the other hand, she couldn’t go the entire rest of her life having not checked out the tool-belt situation.
“This shouldn’t take but a minute. Is everything else okay with the cabin? Or have you even had a chance to check?” The rough edge in his voice soothed her senses, like someone gently scratching her back.
Before she bothered to look inside, she leaned against the wall outside the bathroom to listen to him talk. “Everything else is fine. The cabin is great, you know, besides the toilet. I can’t wait to take a walk and have a look around. See what else is here.” She rolled out the idea, hoping he’d offer suggestions, elaborate. Anything. As long as he kept talking.
“You checked in at a great time. The sun should set after a while, perfect for catching the colors during a stroll. You have a good view from your front porch, but the best view is at the main inn on the veranda, and you’d still have enough time to make it back here before dark.”
Her toes curled in her wedges. A long walk near sunset sounded ideal, or maybe it was the way he said it.
Finally ready, she leaned in the doorway to find Devlin, tool belt on, squatted down and leaned over, jeans pulled tight around thick thighs, messing with something on the wall behind the toilet.
Wrong. She wasn’t ready at all.
Who had legs like that? Long and solid looking, like he could hold a girl’s weight if he had her up against the—oh good gosh, she was being a perv.
“The supply line is loose. Tightening it up while I’m down here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh. Hey.” He jerked up, probably not expecting her to be all up in the doorway while he worked on a toilet.
She should say something. Quick. Before this got weird.
“So . . .” What to say, what to say?
Her line of sight, and therefore thought, was full of Devlin and blue jeans and Wow, and toilets. None of it made for appropriate small talk.
“Food,” the word fell out of her mouth.
Of course she came up with food. Now she was smooth too. “I have my own kitchen in the cabin, but I doubt I’ll have time to make it to a grocery store today. Doesn’t the main inn have a restaurant?” She knew the inn had a restaurant; she’d already picked out the first thing she wanted to order from looking at the menu online. And possibly the second and third.
“We have an outstanding restaurant. Hold that thought.” He leaned over again, doing something with a wrench that did delicious things to the muscles in his shoulders and back. Masking nothing, the thin gray T-shirt he wore clung to him, highlighting the dip of his spine, making her fingers itch to touch.
They were supposed to be talking about food. Her neck burned and she fanned it, quickly, while he was distracted.
As bleak as her sex life already was, for over half a year now her desire for anything had gone ice-cold. With no interest, she hadn’t even looked twice at a guy. She hadn’t read a book past page two, gone shopping except for this trip, or done anything other than work.
Nothing sent that zip of excitement through her body; nothing held her attention for longer than five minutes, so she’d buried herself in her job, more so than before.
Then that had fallen apart too. Her creativity, the flair that made her one of the top execs at the agency—gone.
But now, awareness danced across her skin. Her limbs tingled with anticipation, like coming up with the perfect pitch for a sales campaign—or seeing a gorgeous guy, in well-fitting blue jeans, bent over and doing some plumbing.
“There.” Once he shoved the wrench in its spot on the belt, he stood with a groan.
Mercy, he shouldn’t have though.
The belt sat low on his hips, accentuating a narrow waist and flat stomach.
Maybe her desire wasn’t as cold as she’d thought. Maybe she’d merely lacked the proper stimulus. Because right now, every part of her body was on high alert.
Normally, the first twinge of enjoying life was followed immediately by a pang of regret. A knot of guilt in the center of her chest. Her therapist said the reaction was normal when dealing with loss.
Normal didn’t make it any more bearable.
Anna waited on the pang, but nothing yet.
“Do you mind?” Devlin asked.
He’d caught her gawking. Of course he had. She was being so obvious, Pluto would notice. Her sophistication and manners had gone right out the window, and all it took was blue eyes and blue jeans.
Wasn’t there a song about that? She’d have to look it up later. Except she didn’t have her laptop and her phone was restricted use only. Dear god, she was word-vomiting in her head again.
His rumbling chuckle brought her back. “Is it okay?” he asked again.
When she looked up, he was indicating toward the sink. As in, did she mind if he washed his hands.
“Oh. No, no. Go ahead.”
He washed up, and she tried to look away, she really did. Yet, she didn’t.
“I highly recommend you try the restaurant,” he finally said, turning to her, thumbs hooked into the tool belt.
He had to be doing it on purpose. No way was anyone this attractive, this potent, without actually working their butt off to be so.
“Not only tonight though. You need to eat there for breakfast, without question, and lunch too. As a matter of fact, I can recommend a grocery store for quick food on hand, but you’ll want to dine with us at Bradley’s pretty much any opportunity you get. You won’t regret it.” Another smile, the corners of his mouth curling up like a promise.
Anna found herself leaning against the frame of the door for support. “You make a convincing case.”
“I try.” He moved to get past her, and he was inches away before she realized she blocked his path.
“Sorry.” She backed into the hall until the heel of her shoes hit the baseboard.
“Don’t be.” He followed, stopping so he stood right in front of her.
Silence lingered, filling the cabin with a quiet tension. Electric.
Something was happening, though she was lost as to what exactly.
When she was ten years old, her father took her to Caesars Head, and they’d gone way out on the big rock. They didn’t go to the very edge, but Anna had still felt the pull of vertigo. The downdraft of the mountain winds. The call of the edge, luring her to go over.
The exact same sensation blew over her, standing in the small hallway with Devlin.
He didn’t hide his slow study of her. His gaze, like a lover’s touch, brushed her face, down her neck, pausing in the vee of her shirt. Heat spread out from the point of his focus, slipping down, between her legs, making her squeeze them together.
She knew that look. It had to be identical to the one she’d given him while he was crouched on the bathroom floor. The difference being, he hadn’t been aware of her hungry stare, but boy, was she ever aware of his.
Too much time had gone by since a man had looked at her like that. The needle-toed dancers were back at her neck, twirling and tapping in tiny hot steps, her whole body lighting up.
If, with one look, Devlin had this effect on her, what would happen if he touched her?
Chapter 2
He ought to get the hell out of that cabin. Too bad he had no interest in leaving.
The toilet was fixed and his presence was no longer required at Cabin Five, but his feet refused to carry him to the door.
His feet, along with every other part of him—except maybe his better judgment—wanted to stay right here, inches away from Anna Martel, with her rosy sweet smile and wicked brown eyes. Luscious curves and whatever was happening with her neck.
Flirting with her was an absolute no, according to Honeywilde policy, but he couldn’t resist lingering. What
would it hurt to pursue the interest a little? She was checking him out too, and while the splotches of pink on her neck made her appear bashful, the greedy way she eyed him told a totally different story.
Besides, a little mutual acknowledgment of attraction never hurt anybody. Chemistry is good for morale.
“Do you do all the handiwork around the resort?” Anna reached up, touching the tips of her fingers to her neck.
Her nails were a shiny crimson and the color had him instantly envisioning those red-tipped hands all over his body.
“Some.” Heat and need spread through his body, and he could not be thinking thoughts like that and manage to remain a proper gentleman. He was lousy at the whole proper thing anyway. “When my younger brother forgets to do his job. I can fix pretty much anything, so I get roped in because I’m good with my hands.”
Her dark gaze flitted away.
Seeing Anna in the lobby of Honeywilde had been like seeing a silver-screen siren in the middle of the toolshed. Way beyond unexpected, it’d been a shock to his system.
They had beautiful women in the mountains. Plenty of them. He’d taken about half of them out on dates, but they weren’t like Anna.
Casual and laid-back reigned supreme up here. A natural vibe, without a lot of fuss.
Here he’d thought Roark’s girlfriend, Madison, was fancy, in her suits and pulled-up hair, but Anna was altogether different and not only in appearance. She was a big-city girl, no question.
Her words were perfectly pronounced, with not a whiff of an accent. Expensive luggage sat in the cabin’s den, and the sleek black car outside screamed sales or attorney or some other high-and-mighty job. With dark hair that fell to her shoulders and a pair of designer sunglasses still stuck on top of her head, she covered her generous curves in fitted black pants, black top, and black shoes to match. With all that black, she ought to radiate urban cynicism and acidity.
But she didn’t.
She looked as worked up and flustered as he felt. Her eyes held as much unmasked interest as his surely did. She studied him, then looked away. Staring, then away.
He’d have to say something, or they’d likely stand in the hallway until sundown.
“Where are you from?” Devlin went with a safe-option icebreaker.
Anna was a guest after all and, regardless of the roving his eyes were doing and how much he didn’t want to leave, he had to stay between the lines. That meant polite topics and keeping his hands close to himself.
“Atlanta.”
Ding, ding, ding. Big city. He knew it. “Anna from Atlanta.”
A smile tugged at her pink lips. “But I’m originally from outside of Charlotte. Fort Mill.”
That’s—not what he’d expected. “Fort Mill isn’t far from here. Couple of hours or so?”
“Almost exactly. That’s home, I guess.”
“You could go by while you’re up here, if you have the time.”
“I know.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners, a fog of sadness surrounding her as she glanced away again. “I probably should.”
Devlin scowled at the downer that came out of nowhere. All because of her hometown? “Or not. You’re on vacation. You get to do whatever you want.”
“Yeah.” A line formed between her arched brows, plush mouth pulled down. Her focus wasn’t on him; it wasn’t on the cream-colored walls. She’d gone a million miles away in two seconds, and not anywhere fun.
His pulse stuttered, his hands suddenly sweaty. He knew nothing about her situation or why she was unexpectedly sad. The pressure to say the right thing during moments like this made him shift on his feet.
He could fix anything material, but all he’d ever done with bad moments was make them worse.
When she finally looked up at him again, her smile was a wisp of a thing, her gaze distant. “I’ll probably go. Maybe. I’m supposed to be getting away from it all, but . . . I don’t know. We’ll see. Anyway . . .” She shook her head and waved off the decision for now.
“Well, your toilet is all fixed. I should probably get out of your hair and let you settle in. You’ll be at dinner tonight, right?”
“You’re leaving?” She looked at him like he’d said they were kicking her out of the cabin.
He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t know what to say in these situations. If she needed someone to talk to, it shouldn’t be him. Nobody wanted Dev Bradley to be privy to their problems, and they sure as hell didn’t want his advice. A how-to on handling life? Most folks would simply do the opposite of everything he’d ever done, and they’d turn out fine.
“I guess. Unless there’s something else around here that needs fixing.”
“No. Not that I’m aware.”
“Good. Better not be, but if so, just give us a call. Sorry again about the seat.”
“It’s fine, really.” Any blame was dismissed with a flick of her hand.
He turned to go and she followed. As they neared the den and the open-beam, vaulted ceiling, he heard the problem before he saw it.
Then he laid eyes on a disaster waiting to happen.
One noisy-as-hell ceiling fan wobbled hard enough to spin off its base. Devlin stared up, narrowing his eyes at the offense.
Hell.
Trevor had one job. One job, but here he was, about to haul out the ladder because his baby brother couldn’t follow directions.
And people called Dev the irresponsible one.
How did he not notice the fan when he first got here? The unreachable chain banged against the light fixture as though trying to break through. Clinking and clunking, the whole thing looked ready to fly across the room and out the window.
“Wow.” Anna stopped right beside him, chin up to stare at the fan. The delicate stretch of her neck was once again creamy smooth and, he bet, sensitive. “You know, I’m no expert, but I feel like ceiling fans aren’t supposed to do that.”
She turned to meet his gaze, a flutter of lashes as she smiled. Anna from Atlanta was back, the fog of sadness burned off by the distraction.
“Guess you aren’t quite done fixing things.” Something devious flickered in her eyes, reminding him exactly why he hadn’t noticed the fan upon arrival.
As she went back to studying the fan, her hair fell back, over her shoulder. Dark brown, wavy and soft, and his fingers itched to touch. Run his hands through it, have it brush against his thighs as she—
Devlin cleared his throat. “Fan’s probably out of balance. I’ve got a ladder in the work truck. I’ll be right back.”
He hauled ass out of Cabin Five as if he had on a jet pack.
This was bad. Amazing, but bad, and the short jaunt to the truck was the perfect time to remind himself why.
Anna was a guest at the resort. Guests were a no-go, always had been, and always would be. Roark was a stickler for all rules, but this was in his top ten.
And she wasn’t only a guest; she was a guest up here alone, for an extended amount of time, obviously dealing with something in her life. Or running from something, or hiding, or whatever the hell kind of reason women isolated themselves in the mountains for weeks at a time.
Regardless of what and why, her troubles were none of his business. He had too much shit in his own life to get tangled up in someone else’s issues.
Suggestions on fun things to do on the property, adventure, entertainment in town—for that, he was the go-to guy.
But fixing personal problems? Hell no.
The ability to offer any solid life direction wasn’t in his genetic makeup. Roark took all that when he was born, and left Dev and Trevor with scraps.
He was trying to do better, prove he could be responsible and have a clue.
Carousing with Anna from Atlanta wasn’t the way to get it.
He could already hear Roark’s voice, sniping in his head. One of the guests, Devlin? Seriously? Can I not trust you with anything?
Swear to god. He hooked up with one guest when he was twenty, and his brother still treated
him like a mountaintop Casanova.
Devlin grabbed the ladder, cursing to himself as he dragged it from the back of the truck. He’d fix this fan and go. Chances were, he’d hardly see Anna around the resort anyway, so it didn’t matter. A few hellos here and there. Any temptation would be 100 percent manageable.
Anna waited on him in the den, standing out of the way, hands on her hips, red nails flashing against the black of her pants, and she glared up at the fan like she could stare it into submission.
Dev bit back a groan as he set the ladder up. “Give me a minute and I’ll have this thing fixed.”
After more than ten minutes, and Anna’s assistance with turning the switch off and on, the fan still had a little wobble. Every time he glanced down to ask her to go flip the switch, he saw right down the front of her V-neck shirt.
Being a gentleman, he looked away, but not quick enough that he didn’t know Anna had world-class cleavage, and a penchant for black, even in her underwear.
Son of a bitch, he did not need to know that.
“Maybe it needs to be replaced altogether,” she suggested.
“No, it’s just . . .” He muttered to himself, trying one last thing, tightening the base as much as he could. “I’d rather spend all day fixing it than tell Roark we need a new one. Somehow it’ll be my fault it’s broken.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I think you’re all set now.” He tugged on the chain so it spun at mid-speed, not making a sound.
“Yes.” Satisfied, he stepped down a few rungs to hop off the ladder. Then something went horribly wrong. He underestimated the height of the last step and his foot missed the expected landing.
Windmilling backwards, the split-second realization he was going to fall on his ass in front of a gorgeous woman sealed his decision to kick Trevor’s ass.
Then, Anna caught him.
Behind him, she stuck her arms firmly under his as he fell, holding on so they both went sprawling on their backs across the sofa.
Devlin lay there, stunned.
That didn’t just happen. Shit like that didn’t really happen to people who weren’t in sitcoms.
A Date with Desire Page 2
