✰ Bianca ✰ Janeane ✰
“What’s next?” Harrison was so serious that I wasn’t sure
whether he meant us or the shelf project, but I couldn’t resist messing with
him a little.
“Screwing,” I deadpanned.
Predictably, Harrison made a sputtering noise. “Pardon?”
“With a drill, Harry.” I held up the trusty cordless I’d
retrieved. “With a drill.”
“No one calls me Harry.” His mouth pursed. I wanted to kiss
it. Perversely, the more uptight he got, the more I wanted to unravel him.
“Not even your mom?” I found the correct drill bit for the
project and slotted it in.
“Ha.” Harrison had locked his gaze on my hands in a way that
made me both self-conscious and more than a little turned-on. “I call her Mom
only because she dislikes the formality of Mother.”
“Whereas you love the formality. I get it. Harry.” I put
deliberate emphasis on the nickname, so that I could categorize all the
different shades of pink and purple he was turning. Besides, it was a good
distraction from how his shrewd eyes made me feel.
“I said—”
“You’re fun to harass.” I grinned at him, which earned me an
eye roll in return.
“I try. Now give me something to do.”
“Okay, okay. Back to work. You can help by measuring to mark
each of the screw holes.”
“Why do construction terms always sound so suggestive?”
“Because you have a dirty mind, Harry.” I gave him an
exaggerated leer.
“You better stop that.” He didn’t sound particularly convincing.
“Stop teasing or stop looking at you?” Laughing, I waggled
the drill in his direction. “I’ll remind you that I’m the one holding power
tools.”
“So you are.” Harrison kept holding my gaze, eyes soft and
expectant behind his glasses, tongue darting out to lick at his lips. In that
moment, he was infinitely appealing and nothing at all like Astin.
Maybe I’d been mistaken in thinking he was a branch of the
same tree of rich dudes who had no issues taking what they wanted. Like him,
Astin had favored designer clothing, pricey-looking watches, and the same
luxury brand car, and had also dropped clues about inheritances. But unlike
Astin, there was a certain humility to Harrison, and he didn’t try to tell me
how to do my job.
Oh, Harrison was still a city slicker, and probably not
sticking around, but he wasn’t an entitled asshole either. He wanted to kiss
me. That want was all over his face, but so was his restraint. As with the
woodworking, he’d let me lead. He’d wait for me to make my move and didn’t have
a ready arsenal of slick lines. His uncertainty was perhaps the most charming
thing about him.
And so, still meeting his eyes, I set the drill back down on
the workbench. “No power tools now. You still want to shut me up?”
I stepped closer, in case he had any doubt as to my intent.
He smelled good. Expensive, like someone had married delicate herbs and leather
scents in an aftershave that probably cost more than a year’s supply of my
soap.
“Yeah. I think I do.” His cultured voice had gone husky, but
still contained that vulnerability I found so damn intoxicating.
From award-winning author Garrett Leigh comes a gorgeous new romance in the True North world! Think: great food, burly men and good times. Beards are optional but encouraged.
I’m not the obvious choice to run Burlington’s coolest wine bar—quiet, brooding, clueless about tannin content, and always one wrong turn away from another downward spiral.
But no one seems to mind that I'm a wreck. Besides me. I just focus on getting through each shift until the night a beautiful stranger appears, looking as lost and damaged as I feel.
When a mutual friend calls in a favor, the sexy newcomer winds up crashing on my couch. I don't know if it's his melodic Cornish accent, or his ocean blue eyes, or the rock-hard body with the mysterious scars, but I get the feeling whatever happened to him runs far deeper than those wounds.
Having Jax in my home makes my chest warm. Makes me shiver. Makes me want more. But I've got a pile of baggage and I don't want to be a burden on anyone let alone a man who seems to have enough demons of his own.
Our chemistry is off the charts. His arms feel like home. The last thing I want is to screw this up. Is it wrong to hope we can heal each other? Or will one of us die trying?
