“Even with Lindstrom Elite in your pocket?”
“In half my pocket. And working with difficult types.”
His father looked at his watch, then back up at Lars. “I gotta do that pickup at the Best. How ’bout you come on back tonight. Nils, you too. We’ll finish this conversation and get the numbers worked out.”
Lars nodded.
His father shrugged into a navy-blue fleece jacket embroidered with the Lindstrom & Sons logo, then turned back to Lars. “Lot depends on this here assignment, though, Lars. You gotta prove to us that you can handle these types, and there’s no time like the present, son.”
Lars nodded again, watching his father leave the shop, heading over to the lot to pick up the van. He had grinned at his brother who raised his eyebrows at Lars.
“Driving a pretty hard bargain, lillebror.”
“I think I’ve earned it, Nils.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
Finally. It was the chance Lars had been waiting for; the opportunity to move onward and upward in his life, make a little more money, have a little more control over his work and family’s business. A lot was riding on this job, and Lars would do whatever it took to be sure it all went smoothly.
He turned back toward the shoot to see the crew break into applause. Samara’s agent and Jane helped her negotiate the ragged rocks in front of the cliff, and lead her back to her trailer. She’d be changing into the third of three outfits now.
Part of Lars wished he could throw a pack on his back and escape into the woods, spend the day under a canopy of trees, tracking a bear or wolf pack, or even just be on the lookout for elk and moose. There’d be a lot less time for hiking and exploring while he was getting Lindstrom Elite off the ground. He imagined that there were stacks of paperwork to do when crews like this one came into town. All of the rentals, the hours of work, the shuttles and pickups, and all of the add-ons. He leaned his elbow against the sign that read “Sheepeater Cliffs” with a short blurb about the history of the cliffs, considering how his life would change. He wouldn’t have nearly as much time for the park anymore.
But, getting ahead takes a little personal sacrifice, right? Don’t complain you want more responsibility and then balk when it’s offered.
Samara’s glowing report was the key to proving to his father and Nils that he was ready for this new venture, and their confidence in him was warranted. He headed back to see if he could be useful; he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
CHAPTER 8
Distracted by his thoughts, Lars bumped into Jane on his way back toward the trailers.
Literally.
Walking quickly in opposite directions, both with their heads down, hers slammed into his chest as they collided. She stepped away from him quickly, but his breath hitched for a second, surprised to find himself so close to her. When she looked up, her eyes slammed into his, and he felt the impact in the very tips of his toes, which curled inside of his hiking boots.
“S-Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” he answered, fisting his hands by his sides. “Heya, Jane.”
He told his mouth to smile at her, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. He was hurt and angry, and he hated it that his body still responded to her when she’d made her disinterest in him so clear. It was humiliating to feel so much for her when she could walk away from him so easily.
“Heya, Lars,” she answered, sliding her eyes away. They rested on the ground for a moment before she took a deep breath, glancing at the vibrating phone in her hand. “I was coming to find you, actually. Sara wants to see you.”
His entire body deflated. She wasn’t looking for him, as his heart was clearly hoping. She was just on an errand for her cousin.
Without a word, he turned toward Samara’s trailer, surprised when Jane fell into step beside him.
“Lars…I, um—” she started in a soft, raspy voice, and he looked down at her curly head, ordering his hands to stay fisted by his sides and not reach for their promised softness.
“What? What do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice brusque and angry. His heart pounded behind his ribs, and an uncomfortable lump formed in his throat as he stopped walking to face her.
She looked up at him, raising her mossy-green eyes to his. They were so instantly familiar to him, the perfect shade of downy, velvet green such that he’d seen a million times on the trunks of trees at the Bleached Cliffs. He longed to see tenderness in her eyes—anything, anything that would give him hope, that would tell him not to give up on her.
“N-Nothing,” she murmured, staring down at the ground.
An unfamiliar anger rose up within him, making him feel mean. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Jane…you were right. Your cousin’s amazing.”
Her neck snapped up and she flinched as though he’d slapped her, her sweet lips dropping open in an “o” of surprise. An almost-inaudible whimper of pain escaped from her throat as she took a jagged breath and held it. After blinking several times, she exhaled softly, her shoulders drooping as she nodded, hurrying past him.
Over her shoulder, she called, “Don’t keep her waiting.”
He knew he had hurt her, which, he had to admit, made him feel terrible and slightly gratified at once. Why should he be the only one suffering? He ran his hands through his hair, watching her retreat, half considering chasing after her, grabbing her, dragging her into the woods, and kissing her until she admitted that whatever was between them was not even close to over, and deserved a second chance. But her quick walk away from him had turned into a run, and she had already disappeared.
“Damn it,” he snarled under his breath, clenching his jaw and finally unfurling his fisted fingers.
Sighing deeply, he closed the distance to Samara’s trailer, knocking once before stepping inside the dim, cool trailer, and pulling the door shut behind him.
At the sight before him, his mouth fell open. He swallowed, his heart pounding, his blood rip-roaring like molten lava through his body. What he was looking at was totally inappropriate, but he couldn’t look away.
Samara sat on a stool with her back to him in a purple lace bra and matching thong. The twin globes of her mouthwatering ass rested, bare and inviting, on a velvet stool, and her dark hair just reached the flimsy clasp of her bra.
She caught his eyes in the mirror as he walked in, then swiveled to face him. He could make out her nipples through the filmy fabric, dark and taut in the center of her perfect breasts. As he stared, they puckered into impatient points, fighting against the gauze that trapped them.
“Hi,” she whispered, looking teasingly down at her breasts before raking her eyes up to his. “Thanks for…coming.” Placing her hands on either side of her breasts, she pressed them together. “You like?”
He cleared his throat and gulped, unable to look away, unable to process a coherent thought with the near-deafening pounding of his heart in his ears.
She looked him up and down, slowly, deliberately, stopping at his groin and licking her lips. “Because I know I do.”
Samara giggled as she stood up, reaching for his hand, and raising it to her breast. She molded his palm around the perfect orb of purple lace, and moaned softly.