Page 22 of Holiday Hire

"Unless you want me to?" I laugh again, tapping my fingers on my thigh.

Why did I say that?

His eyes dart to my legs. It's not the first time I've caught him staring at them today. I'm unsure what to make of it. His parents told me to dress casually on the ranch, including when I came for the interview. Since the weather is still abnormally hot for this time of year, I put on my shorts. I wonder if he disapproves.

He dryly asks, "How many tattoos do you have?"

Anxiety creeps into my gut. "Several."

"That's not a clear answer."

I tease, "Isn't the mystery part of my stunning magnetism?"

"Since I won't be undressing you, an answer would be appreciated."

I reprimand myself, realizing my statement sounds flirty.

I'm not flirting with him.

I did.

Nope!

Heat crawls up my cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I was suggesting anything," I admit, a blush exploding on my face. I bite my lip, still under his darkening gaze.

He blinks twice, his face hardening, and he stands taller, looming over me. He says, "Good to know."

My pulse pounds between my ears. I glance at his bulging bicep, taut against the sleeve, as if it might break the material.

Stop staring!

My eyes dart down the V of his waist, and his belt buckle with a C on it.

He pulls me out of my trance, asking, "So, how many?"

For some reason, I don't want to tell him. "Why do you want to know? Are you a tattoo hater?"

"No. I have a few."

Surprised, I arch my eyebrows. I assumed Alexander was too straitlaced to ink his body. Now, I'm curious. "Really? Where? And what are they?"

His lips twitch. "Ladies first."

"Nope! I'll follow your lead," I state, pretending to lock my mouth and throw away the key.

He crosses his arms in disapproval.

Something tells me not to cave and tell him. But maybe I should since he's my boss and determines whether I keep my job or not. Yet I decide to change the subject, asking, "What time do the boys get home from school?"

He doesn't flinch. "In about an hour."

I smile. "Great. I'm going to unpack, if that's okay?" I open my purse, rifle through it, and pull out a pair of nail clippers. I select the closest box and try to tear the tape.

Alexander scoffs, then steps up next to me. He opens a pocket knife, stating, "Let me help."

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