Page 12 of Anywhere With You

CHAPTERTHREE

When she reappeared eleven minutes later, his eyes went wide. She had on her tight jeans, a belt that highlighted her slim waist and accentuated her boobs, a pair of sky-high heels, and her signature bright red lipstick. She probably looked like a rock star’s dream PA. “Ready.”

He gestured for her to head off the bus where a huge black SUV waited for them. When he held the door open for her, she could have sworn she saw him lean in a little and…sniff? Which made her smile. She did smell good.

He slid into the backseat beside her.

“You like?” she asked.

He cut her a look. “Excuse me?”

“You sniffed me.”

“Oh.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Busted. Sorry, but you smell like the shampoo from the Wild Wolff Village.”

She laughed. “That’s because I just finished working there and stuffed my suitcase with as many toiletries as I could fit. Actually, I cleaned your house.”

“Yes, we figured that out. Martin thought you looked familiar.”

“What do you mean?”

His muscular biceps bulged as he reached for his seatbelt. “He heard you mention the resort, and he put two-and-two together.”

“I’m not following.”

“He has to check out anyone who comes into my house, which means he’s the one who vetted you.”

“Vetted…as in investigated? Don’t you need my approval to do that?”

“You gave your approval when you applied for the job.”

True.

“Your photo’s attached to your employee file, and let’s just say you’ve got a distinctive look. He remembered you.”

“Well, that explains why he hired someone he met in a gas station parking lot.” She’d wondered about that.

Once buckled in, he picked up his phone and got busy responding to text messages and emails.

He didn’t seem angry with her at all. Just…disinterested.

I must’ve read him all wrong.

Apparently, the man had many sides to him. The rocker, the businessman, and the sensitive artist. Right now, he was in work-mode. Fine with me.

In any event, sitting beside Van Claybourne turned out to be very different than she’d imagined. He wasn’t anything like the fantasy she’d built in her head. The real flesh and blood man was complex and a little intimidating.

As they sat in companionable silence, her gaze wandered to his tattooed arms. In articles she’d read about him, he’d mentioned what ink meant to him, how each piece told a story. It had inspired the work she’d gotten on her own body, but what she saw on his arms didn’t seem to match what she’d seen in the countless photos of him on the internet.

Of course, they’d been blurry shots taken from a distance or partially covered by clothing or women’s bodies. But that one on his inner forearm? She was sure she’d never seen it before.

She was so absorbed in it, she found herself leaning across him and reaching out to stroke it.

He jerked but relaxed when he saw what she was looking at.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Had he felt that weird electrical impulse when she’d touched him? “I just…I’ve never seen this one before. Timshel? Is that someone’s name?”

“It’s from Steinbeck’s East of Eden. It means thou mayest.”

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