“You did not.” Eve eyed the fashionably worn denim that molded Dylan’s thighs like a dream. “Do you know how much those would sell for in a department store?”
“Forget the store. Unwashed and autographed, you could sell them on eBay for a small fortune.”
“You’re pulling my leg,” Eve snorted.
“Completely serious,” Dylan assured her.
“Why would anyone want to buy a pair of your smelly old jeans?”
“Because I’m a famous athlete,” he said with a casual shrug.
“So?” Eve wasn’t impressed.
“Don’t ask me to explain the way people’s minds work,” Dylan said. “I’m just grateful they fill the seats when my team plays a home game. Sponsors pay popular athletes to hawk their products. I make more from a few commercial deals than I do from my contract with the Knights.”
“Now you’re just bragging,” Eve sneered as the pile of manure continued to grow.
“Maybe,” Dylan admitted. “But I work hard to be the best at what I do. I won’t apologize for reaping the rewards.”
Eve tried hard to swallow her resentment. For the most part, she succeeded. If she had the talent to play professional sports, she would happily sell her image to the highest bidder. But she couldn’t help but wish that someone would send a boatload of cash her way just for making it through another day.
“Doesn’t hurt to have a pretty face.”
Eve winced when she realized she’d let her thoughts tumble from her mouth. Naturally, Dylan heard every muttered word.
“You like my face?” he asked with a cocky smile. “My body isn’t bad either. I did a commercial for a new body wash. Me, in the shower, naked. They couldn’t keep the stuff on the shelves.”
Amazed by the size of Dylan’s ego, Eve shook her head.
“The love affair you have with yourself is truly impressive,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Tell me. On average, how much time do you spend looking in the mirror?”
“Be honest,” Dylan said, ignoring Eve’s jab at his ego. “You want me to take off my shirt. Right here. Right now.”
Of course, Eve wanted to see Dylan without his shirt. Sheesh. She was only human. However, because she was ninety-nine-point nine percent certain Dylan meant his words as a joke—and because she didn’t want to embarrass herself by drooling—she didn’t bite at the bait he so temptingly dangled in front of her.
“I don’t have all day,” Eve said, keeping her head down. “Either help or get out of my way.”
“Come on,” Dylan continued to tease. He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal an inch of his toned, hard abdomen. “Just a peek?”
“You want a shovel full of manure to the face,” Eve asked, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt.
When Dylan’s smile widened, Eve reached her limit. Taking an extra-large scoop, she aimed and fired—right at his smirky mug. Unlike when she splatted his shoe, this time he was ready.
Showing off his best football moves, Dylan ducked, faked right, then swerved left. Before Eve knew what happened, her shovel flew from her hands and she was trapped in his arms.
Why Dylan smelled so good, Eve couldn’t say. But sweat, nature, and a spicy undertone melded to make an oddly heady combination. She knew because her nose was pressed tight against his chest.
“Let go,” she said through gritted teeth, trying not to breathe too deeply for fear she might do something foolish—like a sigh of pleasure. Please, God, no. “You have to the count of three.”
“And then what?” Dylan asked, his breath brushing against her ear.
Eve suppressed a shudder of pleasure. Rather than give him another warning, silently, she counted down.
“And three,” she exclaimed.
Rearing back, she aimed the toe of her work boot at Dylan’s shin.
“What happened to one and two,” he yelped, hopping on one foot when her aim was true.
Eve’s moment of satisfaction was short-lived. Dylan’s arms continued to hold her like a pair of steel bands. So, she kicked him again. This time, he was prepared. Sliding his leg to the right, he avoided contact but found a particularly fresh mound of manure.
Dylan’s foot slipped from under him. To his credit, he almost maintained his balance but at the last second, with Eve’s added weight plastered to his chest, he toppled like a six-foot three-inch, two-hundred-and-ten-pound mighty oak.
Aware that she was about to hit solid ground, her muscles tensed. Somehow, at the last second, Dylan twisted his body, landing on his side and taking the brunt of the impact. He rolled to his back, taking her with him.
With his arms around her waist, Dylan settled Eve onto his chest. For a moment, they remained silent. Their breathing was the only sound to be heard in the empty barn.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked.
“I’m not the one who landed with a thud.” Eve gave him a worried look. “How’s your back?”
“Ever have a three-hundred- and fifty-pound linebacker land on top of you?” he asked.
“Can’t say I have,” Eve said.
“Comparatively speaking, you’re like a feather in the wind.”
“Since I know how much I weigh, you’ll understand if I doubt your word.” Eve suddenly realized her eyes—and mouth—were level with Dylan’s. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on his slightly parted lips. “Let me up.”
“I can’t,” Dylan whispered.
“Why? Are you in pain?” Eve tried to move away but Dylan held tight. “Did you injure something in the fall?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
“Then why can’t you let go?” Eve demanded.
“Because I don’t want to.” Dylan’s smile disappeared as eyes darkened to a rich, chocolate brown.
Eve wasn’t oblivious to what he felt. The same budding need swirled through her blood. She could have acted coy or pretended not to notice the way the wild beat of his pulse matched her own.
Could a kiss hurt her? Depended on if they stopped with one or let their passion lead to something more.
Take a chance. Eve wanted to follow the siren’s call ringing in her ears. What do you
