Again, the ticking clock is the only noise I hear as I stand and stare for several beats. He makes no effort to move or cover himself. He just continues to hold my hand.

“I told you not to get a boner,” I say, looking him square in the eye.

He shrugs, playing it cool. “Following the rules has never been my strong suit. Plus, this is the hottest handshake of my life.”

I purse my lips and nod, refusing to laugh at him because that response was so… him.

His gaze flits between my eyes as he continues to hold my hand. There isn’t a stitch of embarrassment to be found on this man. The touch goes on for far longer than necessary. A realization that has me yanking my hand back as though I’ve touched a hot burner on the stove.

But we stay standing close. Close enough that I can smell the familiar ginger-scented soap he showered with this morning. Warm and spicy, deeply masculine, and a million times better than the light scent of dust I was sporting as I walked in here.

“You’re a menace,” I murmur.

He shoots me a devilish grin and an aloof shrug. “Maybe.”

I step back. Needing space. Needing air.

I smooth my hands over the front of my shorts, summoning every ounce of professionalism I possess to redirect this conversation into safer waters. “This is the shit you need to pull on camera.”

“I should get a boner on camera?”

He sounds amused, but I don’t give in. “No. I mean the… the…” My hand flips around as I desperately search for the words I want to say. “The shameless flirt routine. It could serve you well.”

He’s still sporting a massive bulge in his jeans with zero shame. Something he catches me looking at.

He quirks a knowing brow.

Fucking hell. I need to dig myself out of this hole.

“I just mean you’re good at it. The flirting. Objectively speaking. And it sounds like you need the money. So just… be yourself.”

“Myself?” His voice is gravelly but perfectly even. He gives nothing away.

“Yes. The smirky, smoldering, hot bad-boy thing you do. Do that.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Did you just call me hot?”

For a beat, I can empathize with the women on the show looking so flustered while meeting him last night. His smell, his height. There’s something heady about standing so close to him. Especially right now, just the two of us, alone in his kitchen.

“Yeah. Like…” I roll a hand to the side as I search for a way to cover for calling my beloved brother’s most hated rival hot to his face. “Generically hot. Conventionally attractive.”

Liar, my inner voice mocks me, but I bat away the taunt, not giving myself any room to elaborate.

Emmett barks out an amused laugh, and it catches me off guard.

It’s because he knows you’re full of shit.

I walk away from him and force myself to move at a casual pace rather than sprinting for the door like my instincts are screaming at me to do. “Right, well, thanks for… all this?” I glance back and wave my hand over my ass, not missing the way his eyes devour me as he follows the motion. “I owe you one.”

I turn to face him at the door, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head suggestively. He’s teasing, but the unspoken offer is still there. I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to, if I stepped back inside he’d… god, he’d probably be an incredible way to end my drought.

I run my tongue along the back of my teeth. Silently berating myself for thinking with my pussy for even a second. Then I step out into the scorching sun.

I refuse to be another girl who falls for his antics.

Instead, I bite back.

“See you on set. But you should wait until that little issue has subsided.” I tip my chin toward his crotch and hit him with a chiding look.

The door has almost shut behind me when he calls back, “For the record, I’d get a boner for any woman bent over in front of me. That’s just instinct.”

But I only throw my head back and laugh at that.

Because we both know he’s full of shit.

He doesn’t call me Theo’s Hot Little Sister for nothing.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 15

Emmett

I’D GET A boner for any woman bent over in front of me.

It’s been over twenty-four hours since I had Julia Silva bent over in my kitchen and I’m still repeating those words to myself as I drive my quad to the back quarter to check on the yearlings—my favorite herd.

Old Bailey, their guardian horse, whinnies when she sees me pull up and trots in my direction, leading the entire herd toward the gate.

Eager for the distraction of something wholesome, I give my old chestnut mare a hearty scratch behind the ears while pressing my forehead against her wide, white blaze.

“How’s my girl?” I murmur, watching the thick lashes over her eyes flutter down as she sighs. She’s got gray on her face now, but she still reminds me of happy times. Long days out on the trail, swimming in the lake, and my parents. They bought her for me on my seventh birthday.

I don’t want to do the math on how old that makes her. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be sad about her being geriatric right now.

I pull some carrots from my back pocket and check her over, whispering sweet nothings as I go. She’s in great shape—sound and happy—and that’s good enough for me right now.

Moving on to the rest of the chores, I fill the water trough for this pasture and inspect their round bales. I do a quick scan of them all for any injuries, and before long my brain circles back to Julia.

I stew over her.

It’s a funk I can’t shake as I continue to make my way to each pasture on the property.

My call time to be in hair and makeup is 1 p.m. today, and at least that is something that hasn’t lost its humor for me. Getting professionally done up to look like a farmer is fucking hysterical.

The road curves, and the old building comes into view. I stop for a beat to admire the setup. It’s impossible not to appreciate how much better it looks with a little TLC.

“Looks good, right?” Parker’s voice startles me as she approaches from behind. “I was thinking that when the show is over, we could use the bunkhouse to generate extra income. Retreats or something like that. Office people love to dish out a load of cash to play homestead for a few days in the name of team building.”

I nod at that. “Solid idea. Julia did a good job.”

No, a great job. And telling her she could have been any woman was a real dick thing to say. But it’s also the kind of thing I fall back on when I’m just a little too vulnerable or when things get just a little too real.

“What are you doing lurking around, Parks?” I ask my sister, again feeling the uneasiness that comes with blending my family with this farce.

“Stretching my legs and giving my eyes a break from the spreadsheets. Figured I’d wander down this way and check on my brother.”

I shoot her a suspicious glare.

“What? The first rental payment came through to the business account, and it’s already made a big difference. I’ve been scouring Western Canada for hay cheaper than what’s produced in the valley but was coming up empty. I was going to have to turn to pea hay for the yearlings and two-year-olds to make it through winter—much to Riley’s dismay—but a fed horse is better than a starved one. This is a game changer, Em.”

My nose wrinkles. An exclusively pea hay diet is not nutritionally ideal for young, growing horses. But desperate times, and all that.

“That’s great,” I say, and while I mean it, it doesn’t sound like I do.

“Why do you sound like you’re marching to the gallows? How are you really?”