speak, she takes a step closer. Her body is only an inch or two away from mine and even though I’m over six feet, a soft breeze could sway me in her direction and bring me right up against her. What would it feel like? Different than the first time? Better?
“The point I was trying to hint toward is: aren’t you tired?” she asks, sounding exhausted. “Of this? Don’t you think you and I could be friends if only we’d put down our weapons?”
“Do you always call your friends stubborn and rude?”
She hasn’t picked up on the fact that she’s bruised my ego. She still thinks we’re playing a game. She aims a teasing smile up at me and my cold heart wants to thaw, but instead, I double down on my annoyance. I’ve seen that smile aimed at every man around the jobsite this week. She has so many of them wrapped around her finger and I refuse to add myself to the multitude jumping for the chance to vie for her attention.
“Only if they deserve it,” she answers. “And you, Ethan, deserved to hear that more than any man I’ve ever met.” Her smile widens. Her eyes glitter with good humor. “You should hear the names I’ve called you in my head. Stubborn and rude sound like glowing compliments compared to the rest, I assure you.”
I glance over her head, trying hard to keep my dejection off my face. “Actually, now that you bring it up, I’ve found I’m all set in the friend department. I think you and I better just stick with the relationship we know best.”
“Which is?” she asks, hopeful.
“Employer and employee,” I say coldly.
She rears back, stricken, and I use the opportunity to push past her and leave the cabin.
Chapter 22
Taylor
Well that went amazingly well. I tried to extend an olive branch, and Ethan broke it over his knee and tossed it in my face. I don’t understand him—truly. Being around him is on par with traversing a minefield. I’m failing miserably.
Every time I try to push us in the direction of friendship and peace, he seems to want to do the exact opposite.
Sometimes I truly think this is who he is—a mean, spiteful man—but I know that’s not the case. I’ve seen glimpses of another side of him, moments when he’s on the phone with his sister or playing cards with Robert. There’s an easygoing, charming side to him, a compelling, smiling, warmhearted man I’d really like to get to know.
Of course, I probably never will.
He stays out of the cabin the rest of the night, or at least until I’m asleep. When I wake up in the morning, I hear soft sounds coming from the bathroom: the ting of a toothbrush as it hits a cup, the sink running and then cutting off. I blink my eyes open and immediately search for him.
The bathroom door is cracked just enough that I can peer past the frame. I have a clear view of him and my lips part on impulse.
He’s standing at the sink with a towel wrapped around his waist.
The air in the cabin is spiced with his body wash and I inhale deeply, filling my lungs as I watch him lean forward and drag his razor down the bottom of his cheek and jaw. The tan muscles in his back flex as his arm moves and I’m a spectator at a tennis match, my eyes flitting from one swoon-worthy part of him to another: wide shoulders, tapered waist, the smooth ridge of muscles across his shoulders and biceps.
But that’s just the back of him. The mirror reflects his abs and chest too, and I want to kick off my blankets, suddenly overheated, but I can’t. I’d draw attention to myself and the fact that I’m awake, lying here, worshiping him with my eyes without him realizing it.
His razor glides along another patch of his cheek and I watch, enraptured. I’d love to feel his skin there: the juxtaposition of his freshly shaved, smooth skin and hard jaw. He’s more tan now than he was a few weeks ago from all the work we’ve been doing outside. It sets off his brown hair and brown eyes even more, one playing off of the other, making his eyes seem lighter, his hair darker.
He finishes shaving quickly, rinses off the excess cream, and then turns.
I jerk my eyes closed again.
His smooth-as-scotch voice is only heightened by my lack of sight. “I could feel you