He gives his head a little shake. “There’s a cooler of water in the cab, if you need one.” He slides a bottle from his pocket and, unscrewing it, brings it to his mouth, his plump lips wrapping around the end.
My thoughts from my drunken night come sailing back into the forefront of my mind.
What would it have felt like to have him kiss me back?
Or to have his tongue working me like I saw Katie do to Rachel. Or more?
Is this well-groomed billionaire in front of me into the kind of kinky stuff that my roommates are clearly into? Is that what everyone’s into, and I’m just that clueless?
I don’t realize I’m staring until he turns to face me. “Is something wrong?”
I feel my cheeks burn bright. “No. I was just...” Imagining the owner—my boss—sticking his tongue in me. There is no good answer here, so I let the words hang and head for the truck to grab a bottle of water. The air is still chilly, but I’m sure once I start moving, I’ll break a sweat.
There’s a small pile of split wood off to the side, so I move for that, cradling a piece. “What’s this for, anyway?”
“What is firewood usually for, Abigail?”
I don’t miss the hint of mocking in his tone. “It’s Abbi. And I figured you’d have firewood delivered.”
“Because I’m wealthy?”
“No, because it’s a big hotel.” And because you’re wealthy.
I watch him bend and heave a large piece of tree trunk onto the stump, wishing he didn’t have that bulky jacket on so I could watch his muscles strain. If the feel of his body wasn’t a drunken illusion on my part, then he’s got plenty of them, and they’re nicely honed.
He grips the ax handle. “We do have logs delivered for wood-burning fireplaces. Today is for me. It’s great exercise, and I like to come out here to clear my head. The quiet is like nothing, anywhere else. Especially when I’m stressed.” With a mighty swing, the blade of his ax cracks the hunk of wood, splitting it in two pieces. The sound ricochets through the valley, sending several birds squawking away.
“You’re stressed right now?”
“I have a hotel that cost me twenty million of my own money opening tomorrow, with plenty of investors’ money tied up and my family’s name behind it. What do you think?”
I try to move past the astronomical dollar figure. “You hide your stress well, then.”
He doesn’t answer. He simply adjusts the pieces of wood. With another powerful swing, he brings the blade down on the wood, splitting it evenly with one swing. He makes it looks so effortless, like it’s nothing to hit the wood the right way. I know for a fact, from watching my father, listening to a string of cuss words from his mouth every time he messed up a split that it’s not.
A thought hits me. “You really are a lumberjack.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I catch the deep dimple settle into his cheek with his smile. I take that as my sign that he wants to work, so I purse my lips together and focus on loading up the truck while Henry chops wood.
Wondering why he brought me here for his “me” day, as he called it.
I’ve helped my dad stack a lot of wood; our old century farmhouse is heated in the winter by a woodstove in the kitchen and a stone fireplace in the living room. It’s a lot of work, and after an hour of mostly silent labor, under a sun that finally offers some real warmth, my body’s coated in a light sweat. I sling my vest and zip-up sweater over the side of the truck, leaving me in a North Gate College long-sleeved shirt.
“You go to a Christian college,” Henry says, setting his ax down. It’s a statement, not a question, like he’s familiar with North Gate.
“Yeah.”
He tosses his gloves onto the stump and then wipes his forehead with his forearm. The hair at his nape is damp and beginning to curl. “What’s that like?”
“I don’t have anything to gauge it against. I guess college, but with the integration of faith. It’s meant to ensure you don’t lose yourself or your core beliefs.”
“And how’s that going for you, now that your ex left you to fuck someone else. Have your beliefs changed?”
Again with that word. A word I’ve always found offensive but now don’t seem to mind coming from his lips. “I’ve definitely begun to question some things.”
“I noticed.” He says it so casually, like this is a normal conversation to have between the two of us.
None of this is normal.
I reach into the cooler and hold out a bottle for him. “Water?”
He eyes it, then me for a long moment, and I can’t even begin to read what’s going on in his mind. Finally he walks toward me to accept it, his steps graceful and confident, his entire aura one of ease and power. His fingertips stall over mine for a few brief seconds. “Thank you.”
I force myself not to stare at his mouth this time by zeroing on the sharp protrusion in his thick throat, and how it bobs with each gulp, and how all the muscles in his throat tense, until he’s emptied the contents.
Good grief. Had I known whose neck I was burrowing my face into, and tasting, I doubt I would have had the guts to do it, drunk or not.
Henry steps into my personal space and I automatically take a step back, until my back is hitting the truck.
A brief smile touches his lips before he tosses the empty bottle into the truck bed, his gaze on the tidy stack I’ve already built. “Looks good.” His gaze drifts down. “How are your arms? Your back?”
“Fine. I could do this all day with you.” The second the sentence replays in my mind, I grimace, my cheeks bursting with heat. “I mean...”
He starts to laugh. “You are different when you’re sober, aren’t you?”
I dip my face to avoid his heavy gaze. “Isn’t everyone?”
His hand nudges my chin, forcing my eyes back up to his. “You don’t need to be so hesitant around me.” His eyes flicker to my mouth before drifting back up.
“Yes, I do. You’re the boss, even if you don’t want to be.” Having him stand so close to me, the smell of his clean sweat filling my nostrils, is making my heart rate accelerate and the tingling between my legs intensify. It’s making me not care that he’s the boss.
“I am the boss and you’re my employee, and I know you won’t try anything like you did the other night again. So relax. Please.”
Finally he backs away. Unfastening his jacket buttons, he peels off his plaid coat and tosses it into the truck. Beneath it he’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt. One made of that clingy material that’s supposed to absorb your sweat. And it’s clinging. Oh my God, is it ever clinging.
Henry is all muscle. He has a lean, athletic build, full of contours and bulges, right down to the ridges of his abdomen. When he heaves a giant log onto the stump I can see his arm muscles straining beautifully.
Watching him is exhilarating.
“Come here.”
My legs begin to move of their own accord, until I’m standing next to him. I let out a tiny yelp as he grabs me by the hips without warning and pulls me in front of him, my back to his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to teach you how to swing an ax.”
“You assume I want to learn?”
“What do you think the Outdoor team does all day? It’s not all about pulling weeds and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s little grass to cut. That’s where your landscaping expertise lies, doesn’t it?”
My mouth drops open. I don’t dare turn around. “You checked my references?”
“We checked everyone’s references.”
I finally glance over my shoulder at him, to find his cool eyes watching me. “Then why would your team hire me?”
“They didn’t. They passed you over.”
I frown, confused. “Well then, why am I here? Was it a mistake?” I knew it! I was hired in error.