Page 17 of Where We Go From Here

“Harper.” His voice is low, restrained. “Did someone touch you?”

I keep my expression neutral as he tries to stare the truth out of me. My lashes flutter momentarily when his eyes dip to my exposed clavicle, the curve of my covered chest.

He tries again. “Did someone touch you on my site?” he asks.“Did one of my mentouch you?”

I move over to the only bench that isn’t carrying a saw. He throws the bag of wood down to his side and takes a few steps closer, following me.

“Um,” I say, chewing briefly at my lip. My eyes flick towards the bungalows and the van is still sitting ominously up there. I don’t want to cause a problem but I also don’t like the fact that there’s a creep on-site who now knows where I’m sleeping. I mumble an incoherent, “I-guess-maybe-kinda.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know their names, Mitchell.”

“Which one? Point him out.”

I move my eyes back to Mitch’s and he’s so livid that he’s swelling. Heaving.Is he really angry for me? Does he actually care that someone just touched me?

“Uh,” I say breathlessly, a little dazzled by the intensity of his stare. “He’s mid-thirties-ish, dark hair.” Mitch narrows his eyes, raking through names in his head. I try to help him out, adding, “The guy who drives the white van.”

His expression immediately shifts, a little confused. “None of my men drive a white van.”

I nod my head as subtly as I can over to where the van is parked up. “I’m pretty sure that that’s a white van.”

He whips around and I watch as his shoulder muscles roll, his brow furrowing. He locks his hands together and cracks his knuckles. Then he turns back around and looks down at me. “That was the guy who touched you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you… did you want him to?”

I study his cautious expression, the slight redness touching his cheeks. He’s still looking into my eyes but I can tell that he’s uncomfortable now too.

“No,” I tell him truthfully.

He grunts. Nods. Then he says, “He’s not one of my team. I’m gonna go talk to him and tell him to get the hell out of here.”

He doesn’t even deliberate. He grabs the bag of wood, tosses it over his shoulder, and then he turns around, about to head straight up the grassy incline.

I’m startled, flattered, and amazed. But then I think about things likemale egoandfighting with power-toolsand suddenly I’m reaching out to him, the tips of my fingers brushing feather-light across the curve of his bicep.

He stills, eyes locked in on my fingertips.

Shit.I’m a hypocrite. Does that count as sexual harassment?

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly, pulling back my hand like I just touched a flame. That seems about right – I can still feel his hard swell burning into my skin. “I just wanted to say that you don’t have to say anything, there’s really nothing we can do.”

Mitch’s eyes follow my hand as it leaves his skin, floating momentarily in the air before I imprison it in the front pocket of my jeans. Then he licks his bottom lip and meets my eyes.

“No-one gets away with that kind of shit on my site. He’s not on my crew so he shouldn’t even be here. I’m getting that asshole out of here and I’m gonna make sure that he doesn’t come back.”

“Mitchell, really, it’s–”

“Don’t say it,” he growls. “Donotsay that it’s okay.”

When did we move so close to each other? He’s mere inches away from me, his heat sinking deep into my body. My eyes roam over his pecs and I hear a rumble sound in his chest. Wow. Then my gaze is moving over to my bungalow, thinking about other parts of him that I wouldn’t mind sinking deep into my body.

He must be thinking the same thing because he looks across to my bungalow too, his body moving even closer until we’re only millimetres apart.

Then a new thought dawns on him and a fresh wave of concern crosses his features.

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