Page 25 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
“Oh my God,” she says breathlessly.
I lean in, intending to kiss her cheek, but being the unpredictable brat that she is, she turns her head and meets my lips with hers.
Of course I don’t pull back the way I should, at least not right away. But I also don’t deepen the kiss the way my entire body is screaming at me to do. I just rest my lips against hers, our breaths mingling, my entire body hardening, until finally, I lift my head.
“You have a naughty streak,” I tell her.
She smiles up at me, unapologetic. “Yeah, I probably should’ve included that on my résumé. But that maybe wouldn’t have helped me get the job.”
I laugh softly and shake my head. “That depends entirely on who’s reading the résumé.”
Before she can say or do anything else, I step back, and straighten my jacket. I look at Evan. “Do you have any questions? Anything to add, Mr. Young?”
I know him well enough to read the lust on his face. He runs a hand through his thick, gorgeous hair, then shakes his head slowly. “No, Mr. Davis. I’m…good.”
I grin at him, then gesture for Finley to precede us back into the reception.
She does, and despite the fact that I am always controlled and in charge of my emotions and actions, I act on impulse one time, and give her ass a little slap as she passes in front of me just before we paste on our social smiles, and she goes back to being Evan’s girlfriend and the paralegal working for my firm this summer.
CHAPTER 7
Tucker
“Hey, hey, sexy mama!”
Instantly, I pause in the middle of getting an update on the timeline from my electrician and turn to see where the voice is coming from.
There are a couple of guys who are my own construction crew, not the electrician’s, who are apparently catcalling a woman.
Nope. Not gonna happen. Not on my crew. Not on my construction site.
“We can revisit this tomorrow, Ray.” I need to go crack some fucking heads together and lecture these idiots on how to speak to a woman.
“Whatcha doing later?” I hear one of the guys call out.
I can’t see the guys or the woman yet. They’re right around the side of the construction trailer, where the guys have been laying rebar to pour concrete.
“Making a voodoo doll of your face and sticking a pin in it,” is the cool and casual reply.
I recognize that voice.
Finley.
I grin at her response. Hell, at least these guys deserve a curse put on them.
That thought makes me wince as I walk around the corner, boots crunching over gravel. Maybe I deserved it too.
The guys are reacting with lots of snorts and one “Woah, simmer down there, girl.”
The primary catcaller and the one eyeballing Finley as they finally come into view is Joe. He’s loud, crass, and does just enough work to not get called out, but never overextends himself. I’ve never liked him, and now I actively despise him for his behavior.
Finley is wearing a black skirt, an ivory blouse, and heels—carrying a manila envelope and her phone in one hand, and has a lightweight winter coat on. Her legs look incredible, her wavy hair gets tossed over her shoulder by a head flip, and even from fifteen feet away I can see she has on red lipstick that gives me the sudden urge to muss it up with my own mouth.
The thought is disarming. I never in a million years thought it would be Finley Anderson driving me to distraction on a job site. But in the past week, I’ve thought about her more than once. Hell, constantly. And not in the same way I have over the last ten years, which was sometimes with guilt and regret over what I said in high school and other times with frustration when things weren’t going right in my life and the guys would give me a hard time about being “Finleyed.”
This is different. Since I saw her at that law firm, I can’t stop thinking about the woman she’s grown into. Not only is she gorgeous, she carries herself with confidence, which is really damn sexy.
I would never have imagined her as a lawyer, but it does make sense.
