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“Oh, shit!” Bennett blurted, taking a step toward him. “He’s hurt.”
“No, he’s not.” I grabbed Bennett’s forearm to stop him. He was wearing a T-shirt, exposing those nice, veiny forearms. I couldn’t help but think how lovely it was to feel those arms around me. I let my fingers linger on the tight muscle for a few seconds. “He’s faking it.” Then I called down to the goat, barely twitching. “You’re not a ’possum, Gilbert!”
The goat suddenly righted himself but was still unsteady. When I corralled him to keep him from heading to the front of the house, he turned and took off running into the backyard. I followed, and Bennett followed me.
“I don’t think Gretchen fixed the fence well enough,” I commented more to myself.
Gilbert darted right under the hole he’d come through last time, wiggling his tail as he went.
“So,” he said casually next to me, “your neighbor has goats.”
“You noticed?”
We were standing near my patio now.
“And they…faint?”
“Yeah. It shocked me, too, the first time. Gilbert is some sort of magician. He gets out of the yard and manages to break into my house. Or apparently, climb on top of it now.”
“Gilbert’s got a crush.” His smile and the flicker of his hazel eyes sent a tingling shiver along my skin. “I don’t blame him,” he added softly.
“Anyway,” I said brightly, ignoring his comment because I didn’t know what to do with that. “Thanks for the help.” A fresh wave of embarrassment filled my cheeks with heat.
His smile widened, and now that I didn’t hate him quite as much as I did on that first day, I had to admit it was…devastating. If he could melt my lady bits with a smile, imagine what he could do with his other parts.
“You want a cup of coffee?”
He blinked, looking back toward the side of the house. “Actually, I brought something for you. Let me go grab it.” He stalked off around the side.
“I’ll open the front door.”
I rushed inside through the kitchen and living room, stopping at the mirror in the foyer to see what sort of mess I looked like. My jeans were nice and tight, highlighting my assets, but I had on a baggy long-sleeved T-shirt, my hair in a messy bun. I’d decided to do a little more unpacking then work on lines tonight.
Wild Friday night, I know.
When I swung open the door, he had a bakery box in his hands. “I brought you something to go great with the wine.”
“That doesn’t look like a steak.”
“Dark chocolate cake with Bavarian cream. Trust me. It pairs perfectly.”
Trust me.
He’d said the same earlier when he had his hands right below my ass and before he caught me in his arms. That was really the crux of my initial animosity toward him. I didn’t trust him. But why? What was it about Bennett that had my shields up so high?
I had sincerely gotten over the booby glitter bomb incident. Was it that he was rich? Was I such a snob like Elizabeth Bennett against Darcy because he had money?
I’d witnessed for myself how much and how hard he worked. He didn’t depend on his name to carry his new store. He put in all the late hours, even after rehearsals at BPAL. The confidence I’d mistaken for arrogance from afar was lined with a vulnerability I hadn’t expected. He was hard on himself. Very much so.
“If you’re busy,” he said, smile slipping, “I’ll just leave it with you and go.”
“Oh.” I stepped aside and opened the door wider. “No, come on in.”
When he stepped into my tiny foyer, it felt even tinier. Why I tended to forget how big he was up close, I had no idea.
I led the way back to the kitchen and pulled his bottle of wine off my eight-bottle wine rack on the counter.
“Did you just move in?”
