Rugged by Lila Monroe Page B

loveliness, Laurel! There are Halloween decorations up, spooky gravestones in front yards, lines of pumpkin lights twined through hedges. Plenty to distract me from my racing, dirty thoughts.
    “Well, thank you for the walk,” I say when we reach the front stoop of my inn. “Meet here bright and early, seven tomorrow morning. And take your Dramamine.”
    “The puking wasn’t as bad as Callie made it out,” he says. We stay standing there a moment longer, neither one of us volunteering to walk away. “So. See you tomorrow, then.” Flint holds out his hand for mine, to shake. “Partner.” He grins.
    “See you,” I say, giving him my hand. We stay like that a moment, and then he pulls me to him, just a little bit closer. He never takes his gaze from mine, and squeezes my hand slightly. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My breath comes faster as he leans down, just a little bit. I’m dizzy all over again. I can’t deny it: I want him.
    “Laurel,” he says, his voice husky. I swallow; my throat’s dry.
    “Yes?” I whisper.
    And at that moment, the inn door opens up and Mrs. Beauchamp comes out onto the porch. Can I never catch a damn break? “Oh, hello dear! Got time for some tea and scones before bed?” She smiles at me, the picture of elderly sweetness. I practically jump away from Flint.
    “See you tomorrow,” he says, clearing his throat and walking away quickly, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Making some rambling excuse to Mrs. Beauchamp, I hustle into the inn and up the stairs to my room, locking the door behind me as if it will keep out all the inappropriate feelings I’ve been battling all night long.
    Steeling myself, I sit on my bed and watch the sizzle reel footage again. Flint stares at the camera, his sleeves rolled up, as he shows how to apply a layer of varnish. How is he even sexy doing that? Finally, I force myself to click the video off and get ready for bed. Brushing my teeth, I remind myself how important this is.
    This is my job. More than that, this is my big break. I’ve already put my career in jeopardy because of a guy before, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it again. Right? Right. Good, excellent planning. Professionalism all the way.
    But as I slip into bed, I can’t help wishing I had Flint’s arms around me, his mouth on mine again, our bodies moving together. It’s not the playful, lusty fantasies I’ve had before; that moment on the porch, the two of us staring at each other, is staying with me. It’s somehow changed things, deepened the connection that started that first night outside the bar. He trusts me. And I trust him. With him I feel good, strong, capable.
    Right ahead of me, I can see the show I’ve always wanted. The career I’ve always dreamed of. And then I imagine that Flint steps in front of it, blocking the view.
    That’s more dangerous than anything else.
    Despite what I’m feeling right now, I have to put all the Flint stuff behind me. There are a million reasons why things would never work out between us, why a relationship would be a bad idea. And who’s saying he even wants one? This thing between us, it’s temporary. Two people bonding over adversity and war, like soldiers do. Once our lives go back to normal, this’ll all blow over. You can’t fall in love with someone in four days.
    Can you?

10
     
    “Now remember,” I say as we step out of my car, “your job is to mostly stay silent. They’ll want to get a feel for you in the room. Just be polite. If they ask you questions, try to bring everything back to renovation and building. You know? Leave the Hollywood bullshit to me.” I’m starting to talk fast. The click of my heels echoes across the company garage. I check my watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes. We’re not late, are we? I mean, we weren’t late five minutes ago, but what about now?
    “You can have the Hollywood bullshit,” Flint says, slamming his door and patting the car. “This is