Page 49 of Now That It’s You (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #5)

Never would have guessed it five years ago, back when I poured myself into the hottest couture hoping my dress didn’t invite ass grabs from sleazy directors.

As I stuff the phone in my bag, I realize I’ve marched right past the turnoff to my cabin. That’s what I get for texting and walking.

But hey, here I am, right by the community gardens, and would you look at that—there’s Dal Yang’s bike propped on the fence!

It’s a sign. A sign to tackle the next task on my to-do list. Efficiency, baby.

Not a lust-starved attempt to stalk the brooding chef, whose Korean-American good looks fill way too many of my fantasies.

I’m just doing my job.

Shifting my mug to the other hand, I survey the sprawling gardens. The plants are too big to see much through the leafy lace of tomato vines and Concord grapes. No sign of Dal’s sleek black hair, his broad shoulders, or those tattooed arms to die for.

It’s an impressive garden. Rows of tall corn march like leaf-covered soldiers toward the open field to the east. There’s squash and beans, all tangled together in lush clusters.

Off to the right stands a scarecrow Cooper built to look like Dean.

He even dressed it in our brother’s old shirt, which I’m sure Dean’s wife sneaked from their closet.

I pause at the fence to pull a compact from my bag. My makeup looks good, not much to it. Just a little pink gloss and some mascara. Beachy blond waves frame my shoulders and I smile to check if there’s gloss on my teeth. Nope! Perfectly presentable.

A moan cuts the silence and I freeze. That was a moan, right?

Holding my breath, I listen again.

Mmmmhmaamm.

There! For sure a moan. What the hell?

“That’s it.” Dal’s low rumble stalls my heart. “Oh, yeah. You like that, baby? Do you?”

Oh, God.

I swallow and search for clues to his mystery lover. There’s only Dal’s bike by the fence, so the woman must live nearby. Or maybe she parked at the lodge and walked?

Another moan springs from the sweet pea patch.

“You like when I rub there?” A sexy chuckle stirs sparks inside me. “That’s it, huh? That’s the spot.”

Holy Christ. I’m tingly and hot and just a little bit jealous.

I didn’t know Dal was dating someone. Not that we’ve said more than two dozen words to each other in all the time he’s lived here.

The smokin’ hot chef hails from keep-to-yourself New York, by way of fast-paced Seoul, Korea.

He’s burly and gruff and wired for efficiency rather than idle chitchat.

Is that why I find him so sexy?

Something moves by the blueberry patch. Is that him?

“Okay, okay . Slow down, girl.” Dal’s sultry chuckle kills me on the spot. “Go ahead and lick it. There you go. Easy, girl. That’s it.”

Holy shit. What have I walked into? I glance around, grateful for the lack of witnesses. These gardens aren’t open to everyone. Dal made that clear when requesting space for organic growing. He wanted to let the plants get established before turning the rest of the residents loose.

But another groan gets me wondering at the real reason. Living with his brother, caring for Ji-Hoon like he does, Dal can’t have much privacy. Is this where he goes to get busy?

“Oh, yeah.” He chuckles again, and my toes curl. “You want some more, girl?”

Um, yes, please.

No!

I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t hear what comes next. Jealousy sends my feet shuffling backwards as my palms start to sweat.

“There you go,” he growls, and I freeze. “Yeah. That’s right. Good girl.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Those words make my mouth dry, make the rest of me…um. Not dry.

Holy shit.

“You’re such a good girl.” Why do those words get to me? “I need you to come when I tell you to, okay?”

A gasp slips out and I stumble back. I’ve already heard too much. I turn to run, but my shoe snags a rock and I trip.

“Oh, God!” I’m whimpering, scrambling, my whisper an echo of what I’ll hear Dal’s date scream in six seconds or less. “Oh, my God.”

My ass hits the ground and I yelp. “Shit!” I hiss out the curse and lurch to my feet, praying I can still make a run for it. Just sprint to my cabin and forget this whole thing ever?—

“Hey.”

I halt mid-jog to turn around, and oh my God .

I wish I hadn’t.

There, standing tall between two rows of corn, is Dal Yang. He’s shirtless and rippling with muscle as his forehead furrows. I can’t see him from the waist down, which makes this worse. Is the girl on her knees in front of him, hands on his hips as she?—

“What’s wrong?”

It takes me a sec to see he’s talking to me. I swallow hard, glancing around. Thank God we’re alone, no cameras rolling. Patting my hair, I try to play cool.

“I, um—was just passing by.” Kill me now. “I needed to talk to you, but it can wait.”

He folds both arms over his bare chest. “Talk.”

Really?

Okay, we’re pretending I didn’t hear what I heard. Or maybe he thinks I just got here?

Pretending’s not hard, and it’s kinda my job, so I paste on a smile. “Actually, I should run. We’ll chat another time.” Maybe when you’re not naked in a garden . “How about I catch you at the restaurant before the dinner rush?”

“Now’s fine.” He’s not smiling, not blushing, though he did just glance down with a funny half smile.

Oh, God . She’s right there, isn’t she?

“Talk,” he commands again, and my idiot mouth obeys.

“Uh, so, the season finale.” I can’t believe I’m doing this. Does Dal even know my name? “Viewers loved it, and we’d like your storyline to be a big part of the new season.”

A silent glower is his only response, so I keep going. “We want to share your softer side and—” My voice cracks as I take in his tawny pecs. I’m not sure there is a soft side to Dal. “Anyway, I’d like to have Entertainment Weekly do a feature on the gardens.”

I can’t look at Dal. Can’t stop imagining what he’s doing here.

Drawing a breath, I jerk my gaze to the tomato plants, their plump fruit glistening.

There’s corn next to that, and a blueberry bush to Dal’s left.

I look anywhere but at him, though my gaze drifts back to those peek-a-boo spots between leaves.

“Oh.”

That’s reddish-blonde hair right at Dal’s crotch level and, Jesus save me , I’m discussing business with a guy getting a BJ.

I’m dimly aware it’s not the first time—Hollywood moguls are assholes, and Zoom calls make everything obvious, but this is Dal Yang we’re talking about. Deep down, the man’s a damn teddy bear. One with manners and grace and abs that look like?—

“Stop.” I’m talking to me , but Dal frowns.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know.” I clear my throat. “I meant you don’t have to answer now. About the Entertainment Weekly piece? Take some time, think about it.” Maybe when you’re wearing pants . “I’ll check back later.”

“I’ll be busy later.” Dal cocks his head with a curious look. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep! Peachy keen.” I square my shoulders, determined to be professional. I’ve covered up movie stars’ jail stints. Put positive spins on actors’ divorces. Even at Juniper Ridge, I’ve kicked ass controlling the press. Throw me a story and I’ll steer it. It’s a gift. A job .

And if Dal Yang needs to pretend I’m not interrupting sexytimes, so help me God, I’m up to the task.

“Right, so.” I clear my throat. What were we talking about? “ Entertainment Weekly. I’m reaching out to them about featuring the gardens.”

“Okay.”

He’s frowning now, arms at his sides. Through thick stalks of corn, I see movement. A roll of his abs, Dal’s fingers threading through silky hair. The woman moves and it’s just too much.

“Oh—I just remembered! I have a meeting.” I take two steps back, turning to sprint for my cabin. Not sprint, walk . Like a calm, rational person, playing my role, pretending I see nothing, I hear nothing, I?—

“Gah!” A stupid rock trips me—same fucking rock from before—and down I go, ass over teakettle, tumbling to the dirt as I scramble for purchase.

I’m down on my knees as footsteps thump the dirt behind me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I flail one hand behind me. “Dal, stop! Zip up your pants, put on your shirt, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

The footsteps stop. I keep my eyes pinched shut; his chance to escape. If I don’t see, it didn’t happen.

“Jesus.” His voice rumbles low, so sinfully hot even now. “Lana?”

“Yes?” Oh, God. He knows my name?

There’s a shuffle of footsteps and I sense him behind me. “Are you drunk?”