Page 120 of The Holiday Clause

“The caulk in the lobby needs touching up. You’ve got some cracks.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He nodded. “Of course.” His eyes dropped to her chest and she shivered. “Where’s the coat I gave you?” He pulled off his canvas jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

She pressed her nose to the collar, breathing in his familiar scent. The smell enveloped her—sawdust and wood smoke, mixed with something clean and entirely him. It was becoming her favorite scent in the world.

“It’s hard not to touch you,” she admitted.

He held her stare. “It’s very…hard.”

She hid a smile. “Well… I should let you get back to…fixing my crack.”

He raised a brow. “I can do that as soon as I’m done working my caulk.”

She glanced at the caulk gun sitting on the tailgate. “It’s thick.”

He nodded, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Makes a tight squeeze.”

He excelled at innuendos and she smiled nervously.

“Don’t worry, Wren.” The corner of his mouth curved upward. “One way or another, I’ll make it fit.”

She laughed and had to look away, her cheeks on fire. “You’re trouble.” She handed him back his coat. “I’m taking my cracks back inside where it’s warm.”

When she looked over her shoulder, he unapologetically watched her walk away. Heat trailed down her spine as his gaze followed her movements, making her hyperaware of every sway of her hips. Maybe she should work a cold plunge into her day. She needed to cool off.

By that evening, Greyson had fixed every possible thing that needed repairing and then some. He caulked all the cracks in the molding, patched the greenhouse roof, replaced the wooden steps to the sauna that had rotted, oiled the squeaky doors, pumped up the wheelbarrow tire, tightened the window latch on the third guest cabin so the cats stopped getting in, fixed the drip in the faucet, leveled the drying rack for the herbs that had been sagging, tidied up the woodpile, drilled new hooks into new posts for the hammocks, picked up a pallet of fuel for the lanterns and stocked it on the shelves in the shed where he’d also built a new wall rack for Bodhi to hang all his rakes and shovels.

But that wasn’t all!

He walked the grounds with Bodhi, giving her father the time and space to voice his concerns for the cats. Greyson listened to every point he made and kept a meticulous list. Then he carefully checked off every needed repair. The cats would be dry and warm for the snow this week, because Greyson ensured it.

Wren felt blown away. Greyson always worked hard, but never before had he attacked a punch list with such focused intensity. Was he trying to prove something? Show his commitment to her and The Haven? Did blowjobs possess this kind of power? Or was this something more?

The intensity felt almost desperate, as if he needed to demonstrate his value through sheer productivity. Whateverdrove him, she found herself both impressed and slightly concerned about his motivation.

A box of new trail markers arrived, and she needed to replace the old ones. She bundled up for a long walk in the woods and told her staff she’d be back in an hour.

On her way back to the property, she felt surprised to see Greyson’s truck still there and all his tools still out. He typically cleaned up around four-thirty and left by five on the days he worked.

Her flashlight cast a dome of light over the ground as she walked briskly toward The Haven, her mind focused on a hot cup of ashwagandha and lemon balm, when she came across Greyson, hunched over and rubbing his back as he worked on some sort of gutter protruding from the foundation.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

He stood up and winced. “I’m fine. Where were you?”

“The new trail markers arrived.” She held out the box of old faded markers. “And you’re not fine. What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I must have wrenched my back moving logs.” He tried to play it off, but when he twisted to unplug his drill charger from the wall, she saw him flinch again.

“You’re in pain.”

“I’m fine, Wren.”

“Nothing’s wrong with admitting you’re hurt, Greyson.” She set down the box of trail markers and approached him. She rubbed a hand along his back. “Where’s the boo-boo?”

“I’m telling you, I’m—” He hissed in a breath. “It’s just tight.”