“Yes, boss.” He clicks his heels together and salutes me.
“That’s right, just remember who’s the boss.” I point at myself, but the slow crook of a smile from Noah warns me he’s vying for the position. He wants to be in charge.
And somehow, I wouldn’t mind if he took a little control over me.
Over things.
I meant things.
+ +
When I was a child, my mother left. My father lost himself in managing the inn that came with almost eight acres of wooded property, including a historic home, an artist workshop, a decorative pond, and the three-story timber-framed hotel. Built in the late 1800s by my great-grandparents, the place reached its prime in the 1920s where parties, holidays, and weddings were hosted in the original ballroom, ice cream socials were held on the enclosed veranda, and excursions to the beach included a one-hundred-and-fifty step decline down the bluff to the sandy shores of Lake Michigan.
My grandparents told tales of the grandeur of this place that conjured images of Dirty Dancing in my mind. If Patrick Swayze could walk into this place, I’d be dropping my shirt like a 1950s virgin and primping myself for a full-body lift above him—clothing optional.
My father and his brother have run Bluebird Hollow Inn since my youth, and the inn’s success has ebbed and flowed like a fickle tide. Being that I was a product of the 21st century, the inn was more about nostalgia than modern comforts. We didn’t offer televisions in our guest rooms although we did provide Wi-Fi. Our philosophy was we wanted visitors to sit back, relax, and enjoy a simpler pace for a while.
If only I could live what I preached.
As I stand inside room twenty-seven of thirty, I watch the sun descend on another day. This room is one of our largest on the second floor with a partial view of the lake off in the distance. When the nearly one-hundred-year-old trees bloom for summer, the foliage will screen what once was the biggest draw to Bluebird Hollow. The inn sits on a bluff that originally boasted a spectacular panorama of the lake. A one-hundred-foot porch was built for the pleasure of viewing sunsets nightly. Tonight’s show is nothing short of spectacular.
I’ve stopped to take a break myself as another day closes, and I’m no closer to my goal. The inn is a historical landmark in the state of Michigan, protecting the property and building from destruction and zoning changes. Uncle Joe wants to sell. I want to buy. I’ve begged my uncle for another extension. No one will love this place like I do. No one can care for it like me. I just need more time.
And money.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” The sound of Noah’s voice pops the bubble of my financial concerns. With my back to the doorway, I close my eyes, as if that will hide me from his sight. I can’t deal with him right now. This day has been long enough, and I don’t have the headspace for one more thing on his list.
Sensing his presence beside me forces my eyes to open, but I don’t turn in his direction, keeping my gaze aimed out the three-paned window.
“What are you doing?” His voice lowers but doesn’t soften. “Zoning out again?”
I don’t need to explain myself to him. “Noah, I can’t do this right now.” My throat thickens. I blink several times to battle my traitorous tear ducts. I hate that I’m on the verge of crying again around this man.
“Do what?”
I still don’t look in his direction, but I can smell him—expensive and worldly and too close for comfort.
“Do…you.” I don’t need him to mansplain one more thing to me.
Yes, we need to update the electric on the veranda.
Sure, an improved kitchen would increase the likelihood of weddings and parties.
Of course, I noticed that water damage on the ceiling in the lobby.
But what my statement sounded like, and what I meant are two different things. “I didn’t mean…” Not do him do him, just him.
However, his silver-blue eyes sparkle like polished candlesticks lit by tempting flames.
“What did you mean?” His eyes move in a way as he searches mine as if looking for answers I won’t give him.
“Nothing.” I glance down at my feet, noticing he’s wearing heavy work boots that look new while I’m standing in raggedy gym shoes with a robin’s egg blue paint drop permanently marking the left toe.
“Something is on your mind.”
Slowly, I lift my head, about to open my mouth and refute him when he reaches for the side of my face and brushes back the fine hairs that have fallen out of my messy bun. My gaze locks on his face while he watches his fingers. He scoops his fingertips around my ear and pauses with his index and middle finger along the column of my throat, like he’s checking for a pulse.
I should pull away. Speaking of inappropriateness, I should tell him he can’t touch me. But for some reason, the warmth of his fingers reminds me of earlier, when I examined his hand and sparks crackled. His pulse-check actually accelerates the blood coursing through my veins. My heart rate increases, and my chest expands and contracts faster. I’m nearly out of breath from a simple caress.
I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.
“Tell me what you were thinking.” The drop in his voice causes flutters in my belly. I swallow around the additional moisture in my mouth.
“I don’t want to think,” I whisper.
Noah steps closer to me. His feet angle at the outer edges of mine. His fingers at my throat shift to a palm cupping the column of my neck, and his thumb strokes the underside of my jaw. Our breaths mingle. My breasts lightly drag against the firmness of his T-shirt–clad chest. At some point during the day, he changed from his typical business-casual attire to this graphic tee and jeans, which do wonders for his already wonderful body.
“Let me take your worries.”
Our eyes lock. “How?” I lick my lips. He’s so close, and I could get lost in him. Dangerously lost.
Noah leans closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I’m going to kiss you.”
I’m not certain if it’s the answer to my question or a warning of his intentions, but nothing seems to matter when his lips meet mine. I can’t think of anything other than the sudden warmth against my sensitive skin. His hand on my neck slips to my nape, and then his fingers delve into the messy bun, tugging free the band holding my hair. His mouth opens, and his tongue slides forward, seeking mine in a slow dance of discovery.
Sweet bluebirds, I’ve never been kissed like this.
As our tongues mingle, we step into one another, erasing the final distance between our bodies. With his hand on my lower back, Noah tugs me against him, allowing me to feel what I saw pitched in his pants earlier.
He’s long, hard, and ready…for me.
Quickly, I break the kiss. “I don’t think—”
“That’s the point of this exercise. No thinking.” His mouth returns to mine. His fingers fist in my no-longer-contained hair. His other hand slips behind my thigh, and he hitches my leg up to his hip, opening me up to feel what he’s thinking.