Page 5 of Those Who Are Bound

“Oh, I have one. It’s in the shop; I got rear-ended a few days ago. Bad timing is all. I get it back on Tuesday. And one is perfect!”

“Dress casual,” Elliott said, snatching up her gloves and beer in one hand and moving from around the bar. “We’ll be walking the property.”

Lucy made another squeaking sound.

At the door, Elliott opened it, stepping back to let Lucy precede her outside. “See you tomorrow.” She fought to keep her attention on the glowing blonde.

Lucy nodded, taking a side step out the door. “Thank you so much!” They shook hands. And then she spun on a heel and raced across the patio and pavement, launching herself into the Devil’s arms.

Well, that’s how Elliott thought of him as she braced her shoulder against the doorjamb, trying to strike an intimidating pose. She watched them, absently slapping her gloves against her thigh, careful not to slosh her beer. Lucy was over-the-moon excited, words going a mile a minute, jumping up and down in his embrace, her little body rubbing all over him. Elliott didn’t know a man alive who wouldn’t have had a hard-on with that pretty little thing bumping up against him, her energy jacked to the nines, smelling like a garden.

But Elliott’s own heart was banging in her chest, her stomach plummeting and flipping, because although he had his arms around the blonde, saying something to her, he was looking directly ather. And he appeared to be… thankful, appreciative… while still managing to see right through her, that tiny bit of rope dangling from one hand now, dancing with movement as he held a bouncing Lucy; taunting…

Elliott stared back, sending a silent, steely message that she didn’t appreciate his kind or his attention. Her body, however, was sending the utterly opposite message.

Pulling out of his embrace, Lucy turned to her. “Thanks again, Elliott!”

She nodded once, not missing the startled amusement on his face—she entertained him—as Lucy darted around toward the passenger side of the vehicle.

Still focused on her, he called out, tone mockingly chiding, “Thanks for the lesson. Elliott.” With that damnable grin, he shoved the coiled rope in one pocket and wrenched open the car door.

His words startled her at first—she’d been looking at the rope—but surprise moved quickly to perplexity; heat rushed to her cheeks. The staring comment; he’d boldly pointed out that she had also been doing a little bit of staring. And her name from his lips, like he was tasting it—tasting her. She clenched her jaw to keep from shivering.

She squinted at the vehicle, unable to see through the windshield beyond the sun’s glare. Turning, she headed home, pace measured, knowing that she was being watched—sensing it—and resenting herself for caring.

Elliott tossed her gloves on the bench in the garage, lifting the beer bottle to her lips and taking a long drink from it. She turned and looked down the asphalt drive toward the corner of the event space and the property’s entrance, although she couldn’t see it. The building blocked her home; this was on purpose. The drive continued around this side of the building to reach her house and the storage units. A line of tall evergreens skirting the other side of the pavement blocked the installations from the sight of anyone using the property. Occasional openings in the trees allowed crews to move equipment in and out.

Although she couldn’t see the front drive, her mind was on it, and her new employee and what she assumed was a boyfriend. Damn, he was good-looking. He looked like someone who could strap on survival gear and haul her through the mountains. Posing next to the Jeep did nothing to dispel the image, nor had his high-end mountain boots or the faint lines etched into his face from time in the sun. Or that fucking rope. She guessed his age to be somewhere around her brother’s—about thirty-five—five years older than herself.

It appeared that he was no better than most men. What a damn shame. And how awkward would it be that her new employee’s man was so openly checking her out, as though he was free to do so?

Well, not awkward. If he stepped out of line—moreout of line—she would tell Lucy. The woman would need to know, and Elliott wouldn’t put up with being ogled every time he was around. She could shut him down herself if she had to.

Ignoring the voice that told her that she’d liked his attention, that she could have spent all day watching his hands work that rope, she determined that she could deal with what to do with him tomorrow.

She already knew, though, that she’d be dreaming about being suspended in an ocean of tickling seagrass.

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