As if that’s not enough, he has a dog. A dog he adores. A dog he runs with along the beach at the crack of dawn. I only know this because I may have stumbled out onto my back deck of the tiny beach house I rent with coffee in hand to sit and bask in the peacefulness that is the Atlantic Ocean. And, trust me, I would’ve known that body, that stride, anywhere.
He runs without a shirt, by the way. Think tanned, toned, muscular goodness. Not to mention his short, close-cropped brown hair, and eyes the color of the finest whiskey. And that’s all wrapped up in a man who appears to barely stand me.
I’ve clearly got some mad skills when it comes to having my boss not like me. But it’s a good thing, I promise. Because my lady parts are on a strict lockdown. Think of the part from the first Lord Of The Rings movie where Gandalf bellows, “You shall not pass!” That’s kind of what’s going on for me.
Because I’ve already been ripped to shreds as it is. By the sole reason I left Destin. My emotions and my self-esteem had plummeted because of that “reason.” I knew it would only be a matter of time before things escalated further. That was why I planned my getaway under the radar with only two people knowing my destination. Only two people helped me—the only ones I trusted.
So while I might have to internally scold my vagina for wanting to detach itself from my body and jump into Foster Kavanaugh’s arms, I have my reasons for keeping everything else under wraps. Me and men? We’re on a serious sabbatical.
I just have to continuously remind my nether regions that while my boss might exude addicting crack-like pheromones, I must resist. I can’t afford to make another colossal mistake. Not to mention, I really enjoy my job and coworkers. And it’s pretty clear my boss doesn’t care for me and only keeps me around because I’m so freaking good at running this office.
So as long as I look and don’t touch, it’s all good, right?
Um, yeah. I clearly need to work on sounding more convincing.
Chapter One
Foster
“Hey, Fos, darlin’.” Kane’s southern Texas drawl sounds more pronounced. Which means he’s about to give me shit about something.
It’s a good and bad thing, this harassment. It’s good in that it’s like being in the SEAL Teams again, so reminiscent of those days. It’s a bad thing because Kane Windham never knows when to stop. This man and his darlin’s.
Gritting my teeth, I mutter, “What, Windham?”
The former Green Beret—with dark blond hair, tall and broad-shouldered with piercing aquamarine eyes and what always seems like a perma-grin on his handsome mug—focuses his gaze on me, sitting leisurely at his desk a few feet away from me.
Let’s get one thing straight. This office isn’t your run of the mill office. I don’t care for hierarchy, the I’m the owner therefore I have a big office separate from everyone else kind of shit, nor can I stand those damn cubicle set-ups. I don’t want to be unapproachable or single myself out. We’re a team here, and so the layout is reflective of it.
All of the desks are staggered with a few feet separating each, close enough so that we can openly have discussions. There are times when this desk arrangement works out well; it fosters and encourages comraderie.
However, in times like this, it also seems to boost—as is often the case with Kane—shit talking episodes.
“You seem more tense than usual, boss man. You know what you need, right?”
I stare at him, my eyes growing squinty. Where the hell is he going with this?
Tossing a brief glance over to Noelle before refocusing on me, he said, “You need a good massage.”
What. The. Fuck?
My face must say it all because he throws his head back in a loud laugh. “Oh, Fos, darlin’. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a good massage before.” Kane’s expression is one of faux concern.
I cut him a look. “Oh, I’ve had a good massage, all right.”
“Guys. Please.” Noelle chimes in from her desk, not even glancing up from her work. “I just had breakfast. I don’t need to hear this.”
Before I can spout off the usual comment, Kane turns in her direction. “Now, now, Ms. Davis. You should know I, a southern gentleman and all, wasn’t trying to place any insinuation on my question.” Eyeing me, he adds, “I leave all that up to Kavanaugh here.”
“Lord knows he’s good at it,” comes her muttered response.
“That’s not all I’m good at, Davis.” I wait for her head to snap up and give me the look where her eyes appear as though flames will erupt from them. For those lips, those full lips painted a deep red hue this morning, to press thin moments before she spouts off some acerbic response.
I am a sick fucker because, well, all that? It makes me horny as hell. I get off on our little back and forths. It makes me want to shoo out whoever else might be in the office with us, lock the damn door, shove her onto my desk, and have my way with her. To peel her pencil skirt down over those curvy hips of hers and see what she’s wearing beneath it. Because that skirt? It shows no panty lines whatsoever.
Yeah, I looked.