Page 37 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

Will I be here in the winter? Or even the fall? Caleb won’t be. He didn’t tell me many details about the scandals that dogged him enough that he chose remote Breckenridge as a place to hide and lie low. I can’t imagine he’d need to save face and stay out of the public’s eye for good, so it’s implied he’ll be gone by then.

And dammit if that idea bothers me.

What happened to avoiding and ignoring? I roll my eyes at my musing.

The afternoon flies by quickly. Rolling, I determine, is far easier than the time-consuming strokes of a paintbrush. Caleb agrees, but he’s much sloppier than I am. Paint flecks dot his tanned arms, giving him polka dots. Whenever he comes close to where I’m covering the B&B with yellow, I’m caught in the fine spray of his application too.

“Don’t go so hard,” I scold, laughing as he winces and squints from the residue flying from his roller.

“You like it soft, then? Gentle?”

My cheeks warm from his direct and blunt insinuation. I wonder, not for the first time today, if Caleb likes to talk dirty. He flirts so easily, making me think he’s got a one-track mind. I don’t mind his crudeness, though. Jeremy never talked dirty or silly. He acted like raunchy jokes were juvenile. A waste of time and lacking creativity.

Stop comparing them. It’s becoming a hard habit to break, though.

I walk into the same issue when he’s rushing to finish a section. “Slow down!”

“I like it fast.” He steps toward me, eyes on his roller at the end of the extended pole. His elbow rears back as he moves his arm, and each bump of his paint-splattered elbow drives into my arm.

“You’re in my space.”

“You’re in my space,” he challenges as he steps around me so his chest is flush to my back. He’s got both hands on his pole, painting up high as I focus lower near the living room windows. His arms are steely hard lengths of muscle, rubbing against mine in a strange sort of hug.

“So, you like it soft but fast? Is that it?”

I arch back, pushing my ass into him to get him to back off.

His throaty grunt and following growl bring a smile to my lips. It feels good to know I have that effect on him. And he doesn’t have a chance to tease me or comment. His hurrying effort worked. Marian bet him we couldn’t be done with the whole house well before dinner. That put a countdown to it, and Caleb won, showing her his watch that claims we have six minutes to spare.

“Well done!” She beams at us, then the house. “It looks fantastic!”

“What was the wager again?” Caleb asks as he wipes off his face and arms. I do the same, removing the worst of the splatters.

“You pick dessert for tonight’s dinner,” she announces.

He glances at me, tormenting me with that hot and heavy stare before Marian tears her attention from the house.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. He’s gazing at me like he wants me for dessert.

“You know what,” he says. “I’ll let Lauren decide.”

It’s a simple, little thing, but that gesture matters. Having a choice matters. “Apple pie,” I answer readily. Marian’s are divine.

“Good thinking,” she replies as she glances at us. “I’ll go get started on it. You two need to go out and do something fun after that long day of painting.”

“Not until I clean up,” Caleb jokes. “And cool down.”

He’s right. We’re both filthy and toasted. The sun came out and stayed bright all day. It helped for the purpose of painting, but I’m hot.

“What do you say you go back to that creek and accomplish both?” Marian suggests.

Caleb nods. “I like that idea.”

I open and close my mouth, unsure about being alone with him. His presence has been a constant reminder of the temptation I want to resist. But the thought of plunging into that cool, clean water is too enticing to pass up on.

I shrug. “Fine.”

An hour later, we reach the creek, finding it vacant. No teenagers to hog the area. No picnic basket for me to stall with. Instead of prolonging the wait for the water, I strip to my bra and panties, and I don’t miss Caleb’s growl of appreciation.

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