done. Now lad, shall we take that walk?”
Who the hell was Tommy? And why did the thought of Sierra doing any tinkering annoy him? She meant nothing to him. All they’d shared was a meal and a kiss and he’d be out of here in the next hour if he had his way.
Then why couldn’t he get her image out of his mind? The way she’d stared at him earlier, bold, challenging, her long legs clad in poured-on denim, her top half encased in a clingy white T that resurrected barely suppressed memories of this morning and the word Angel emblazoned on her impressive chest.
Though her breasts wouldn’t win any size contests the way she filled out that cotton had him itching to peel it off her. He’d never been a fan of the LA babe silicone look, sticking to the motto more than a handful was a waste.
“Ready?”
What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was with his mom and the man he wanted to pry away from her, fantasizing about a woman’s breasts?
He nodded. “After you.”
“Marc, don’t forget what we discussed,” his mom called out as he reached the door, the underlying steel in her voice surprising him. She’d never stood up for what she believed in before and the thought she’d finally acquired a backbone cheered him, despite the fact it made his job of convincing her this was madness more difficult.
“See you later, Mom.”
He’d barely closed the door before Hank wheeled on him.
“Before we start, let’s get one thing straight. I love your mother and as you’re her only child I’d like us to be friends. I’m not expecting us to become best buddies but I’ll respect you and I ask you do the same for me. Got it?”
Marc half-expected a finger jabbed at his chest to ram the point home.
Marc nodded. “You’re a straight-talker. I like that.”
“We’re off to a good start then. Let’s take that stroll and talk.” Hank smiled, the genuine warmth in his eyes earning some of that grudging respect he’d demanded.
Marc hadn’t climbed the corporate ladder without trusting his gut. The best in the business at reading people, Rob said. In this case his instincts screamed Hank Stevens was a decent man.
So what the hell was he going to do now?
Sierra spied Marc and Hank strolling around the farmhouse and wished she could be a fly on a nearby wall. For all his bluster last night, City Boy seemed to be taking time to get to know Uncle Hank. Or was it all part of his grand scheme to undermine the happy couple? Either way, she’d soon find out.
Uncle Hank wouldn’t let her down. Once he’d finished his tête-à-tête with his future stepson he’d guide him towards the barn like she’d asked so she could do a little interrogating of her own.
“And here comes the lamb to the slaughter now,” she murmured, quickly abandoning her look-out post at the door and trying to appear busy under Tommy’s bonnet.
“Sierra, I’ve brought you a visitor.”
She lifted her head, mustering a look of studied surprise.
“Hey there, Slick. Watch those fancy loafers don’t get too dirty out here.”
“What are you doing?”
He ignored her jibe and stared at her filthy hands, which she’d done for affect.
She pulled a rag from her back pocket and wiped her hands before patting the tractor’s bonnet. “Tommy needed a bit of a tune up.”
Surprise widened his eyes. “That’s quite an impressive résumé you’ve got. Matchmaker, meddler, mechanic.”
“Meddler? People in glass houses, Slick.”
His scorching glare was hot enough to set the hay bales scattered around the periphery of the barn alight.
Hank cleared his throat and chuckled softly. “I’ll leave you young ones to it. Head on back to the house when you’re done.”
“Sure thing, Uncle Hank.”
The stress on uncle would get under City Boy’s skin and by the faint blush staining his cheekbones she’d scored a direct hit.
Hank Stevens wasn’t related by blood but he’d been a savior from the moment she’d arrived in this town,
Who the hell was Tommy? And why did the thought of Sierra doing any tinkering annoy him? She meant nothing to him. All they’d shared was a meal and a kiss and he’d be out of here in the next hour if he had his way.
Then why couldn’t he get her image out of his mind? The way she’d stared at him earlier, bold, challenging, her long legs clad in poured-on denim, her top half encased in a clingy white T that resurrected barely suppressed memories of this morning and the word Angel emblazoned on her impressive chest.
Though her breasts wouldn’t win any size contests the way she filled out that cotton had him itching to peel it off her. He’d never been a fan of the LA babe silicone look, sticking to the motto more than a handful was a waste.
“Ready?”
What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was with his mom and the man he wanted to pry away from her, fantasizing about a woman’s breasts?
He nodded. “After you.”
“Marc, don’t forget what we discussed,” his mom called out as he reached the door, the underlying steel in her voice surprising him. She’d never stood up for what she believed in before and the thought she’d finally acquired a backbone cheered him, despite the fact it made his job of convincing her this was madness more difficult.
“See you later, Mom.”
He’d barely closed the door before Hank wheeled on him.
“Before we start, let’s get one thing straight. I love your mother and as you’re her only child I’d like us to be friends. I’m not expecting us to become best buddies but I’ll respect you and I ask you do the same for me. Got it?”
Marc half-expected a finger jabbed at his chest to ram the point home.
Marc nodded. “You’re a straight-talker. I like that.”
“We’re off to a good start then. Let’s take that stroll and talk.” Hank smiled, the genuine warmth in his eyes earning some of that grudging respect he’d demanded.
Marc hadn’t climbed the corporate ladder without trusting his gut. The best in the business at reading people, Rob said. In this case his instincts screamed Hank Stevens was a decent man.
So what the hell was he going to do now?
Sierra spied Marc and Hank strolling around the farmhouse and wished she could be a fly on a nearby wall. For all his bluster last night, City Boy seemed to be taking time to get to know Uncle Hank. Or was it all part of his grand scheme to undermine the happy couple? Either way, she’d soon find out.
Uncle Hank wouldn’t let her down. Once he’d finished his tête-à-tête with his future stepson he’d guide him towards the barn like she’d asked so she could do a little interrogating of her own.
“And here comes the lamb to the slaughter now,” she murmured, quickly abandoning her look-out post at the door and trying to appear busy under Tommy’s bonnet.
“Sierra, I’ve brought you a visitor.”
She lifted her head, mustering a look of studied surprise.
“Hey there, Slick. Watch those fancy loafers don’t get too dirty out here.”
“What are you doing?”
He ignored her jibe and stared at her filthy hands, which she’d done for affect.
She pulled a rag from her back pocket and wiped her hands before patting the tractor’s bonnet. “Tommy needed a bit of a tune up.”
Surprise widened his eyes. “That’s quite an impressive résumé you’ve got. Matchmaker, meddler, mechanic.”
“Meddler? People in glass houses, Slick.”
His scorching glare was hot enough to set the hay bales scattered around the periphery of the barn alight.
Hank cleared his throat and chuckled softly. “I’ll leave you young ones to it. Head on back to the house when you’re done.”
“Sure thing, Uncle Hank.”
The stress on uncle would get under City Boy’s skin and by the faint blush staining his cheekbones she’d scored a direct hit.
Hank Stevens wasn’t related by blood but he’d been a savior from the moment she’d arrived in this town,
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