Page 41 of Suddenly Entwined

“And, I don’t want to pile too much on, but the girls need some spring clothes that I haven’t had time to get them because…”

“Because?”

He shrugs. “I was going to make an excuse about being busy, but I've actually been putting that one offbecause I don’t want to do it. This might shock you, Caro.” Berg glances around the foyer as though he’s looking for anyone who may overhear. “But I’m not really a fashion guy. They’re getting older and always complain about what I pick.”

I gasp, covering my chest with a splayed hand. “I’d never have guessed.”

Berg doesn’t need fashion. Even in any old pair of jeans and a t-shirt he pulls off a rugged, casual vibe. It’s really unfair for a man to have all that going on in the back of his jeans. Tentatively, I accept the card like it’s a piece of irreplaceable fine china.

“Hilarious.” He pulls open the front door.

“We’ll start with party dresses, then shoes. Can’t have too many of those.”

He scowls in that amused way that I’m beginning to love. Like.

“Regular clothes, Caro. Play clothes.”

I tap the credit card against his shoulder. “Only teasing.”

“Have a good day. Thanks, again.”

We’re standing on the threshold when Berg leans in closer and extends an arm. I mirror his movement, surprised by this sudden show of affection. Maybe Berg is a hugger and I’m only finding out now. There’s a spot of shaving cream on his throat and I can smell the minty, rich scent of it clinging to his skin. My chest grazes his middle before I briefly touch my cheek to his pec and give him what I hope is a friendly embrace, patting his back.

“You have a good day, too,” I reply.

There aren’t any rules against smelling people you’re hugging, so I inhale a bit more of Berg.

But then, everything goes wrong. Or right, the jury is still out. I raise my chin and hand simultaneously, figuring I shouldn’t let him walk out the door with a blob of shaving cream on his neck. But our signals cross, get a little jumbled. The next thing I know, his beard is rasping against my cheek and I’m not doing a damn thing to stop it. His lips touch mine, my brain has ceased to function, and I’m rising onto my tips toes and kissing him right back. One of those hot, capable hands splays itself across my shoulder blades and pulls me close enough that my breasts are no longer grazing. They’re mushing right up against all that male.

I sigh.

He groans.

And two little girls gasp.

Then we rebound like coiled springs.

My hand flies to my mouth and I catch a hint of a garbled goodbye before the door swings shut.

Holy shit. I kissed my boss. Or he kissed me. What the hell just happened?

Both girls stand there staring at me with loose jaws, like maybe I’ll explain what the hell just happened. Sorry kids, can’t tell you because I don’t quite know myself.

If they ask about it, I’ll come up with something. But for now deflection is the name of the game.

“Should we get some braids going?”

That does the trick, and they race off to the bathroom, leaving me to collect myself. My heart is thudding against my ribs, a whole other pulse thrumming between my thighs. That may have been sort of awkward, but there was a moment where that felt perfect. The solid oak door behind my back does little to ground me, though, and I think it’s going to take me a while to get my feet, and my heart, back on earth.

Chapter fourteen

Berg

Iyawn over the rim of my afternoon cup of coffee, sitting in the bed of my truck with Dean as he munches happily on a sub sandwich that smells like spicy mustard and salami. My stomach growls, so I take another sip, hoping the caffeine will keep me going. On top of being hungry, I’m on edge. Leaving Carolina to do all the jobs I normally do is a bizarre feeling. I trust her, but it will take time to turn off the part of my brain that is used to being chronically on. Checking my phone, I smile when I see a picture in my inbox from Caro. The girls are holding onto the tips of their braids, pulling them straight out from their heads like they’ve been electrocuted. I immediately save the photo and send it to my sister. She’s always complaining that she doesn’t get enough photos of her nieces. She’s ten years older than me, and her twin sons aregrown.

“You know how to braid hair?”

“Do you mind?” I tilt my screen away from Dean’s line of sight. “No, I don’t,” I mumble.

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