Surviving Love (Montana Wilds Book 1) (26 page)

“Olivia?” he asked, his keen gaze rooting me to the floor.

I struggled to take a breath.

“Olivia Jonston, correct?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, something hot and fiery settling deep into my core.

“Take a seat.” He moved around his desk with the grace of a dancer and stood behind one of the large chairs, as though pulling it out for me.

Walking like the Tin Man with rusty hinges, I crossed the distance and took the proffered seat, getting a whiff of his aftershave. I closed my eyes, savoring the mouthwatering elixir. Unbidden, wetness blossomed between my thighs.

Suddenly I knew
exactly
what Kimberly had been talking about; exactly why she’d flushed every time she mentioned his name. I knew why gorgeous, high-powered women lined up for a job probably way under their pay grade and professional level.

It was to be close to Hunter Carlisle.

I glanced up into those sexy, smoldering eyes, and just stared. I didn’t know what came next, but I was pretty sure I needed a moment to get ready for it.

“Did you bring your résumé?” Mr. Carlisle asked.

“Y-yes, of course,” I stammered, picking it off the ground where it had fluttered after my fingers lost their grip. The sheet trembled as I handed it across the desk.

He stared at me quietly for a moment before his gaze dipped to the page. He dropped the page to his desktop and resumed his scrutiny of me.

“Tell me,” he started in a deep voice that vibrated down my spine and tickled parts of me that were distinctly feminine. “Why would a Stanford grad in a sought-after field turn up in my office applying for an admin role?”

I willed saliva into my mouth to cure the sudden dryness. “As you see—” I pointed a shaky finger at his desktop where my résumé lay “—I graduated five months ago. I’ve been diligently searching for work, but at the moment, there aren’t opportunities for those without experience, however great the school I graduated from.”

The words sounded professional, but my tone was much too wispy. The sheen of sweat on my face screamed
uncomfortable.
Or, more correctly,
turned on.
I was out of control without a clue how to fix matters.

His gaze traveled my face, and then grazed my body. When he was once again looking into my eyes, he said, “The economy is lagging at present. You’re unlucky in your timing.”

“I’ve come to that realization,” I heard myself say. The words were like an echo from someone else. Wobbly and distorted. I was not in charge of my linguistics. I only hoped he attributed it to nervousness.

“Olivia?”

“What was that?” I blurted.

Humor sparked in his eyes. “I said, would you be open to tasks outside of that strictly administrative? I have a variety of projects that come through this office, or that need overseeing.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And hours? Do you have a preference?”

A blush crept up my face as heat saturated my body. “No. I’m always available,” I said in a breathy voice I did not recognize.
Get a grip!

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. “Tell me about your hobbies. Your usual day.”

Caught off guard with a non-interview question, and with my mind on complete hiatus in his company, I just blurted out what came to mind. Unfortunately, that turned out to be the minute details of my life. I told him everything, from my morning walk, to getting inventive with what was in the fridge. When he asked about my job search, I stupidly told all, one rejection to the next. I didn’t add flourishes or hold anything back. All my faults I laid bare, and all the things I excelled at I bluntly offered up. I just opened my mouth and purged.

He sat and watched me, gaining all my life’s secrets with a focused, almost predatory gaze. Only when shadows started crawling across the floor from the neighboring high rises did the question and answer segment slow, and finally stop. Silence descended as he sat and stared at me. My heart thumped under that handsome gaze.

The swish of expensive fabric was the only sound as he rose. “I think that’ll be all for today. Check in with my assistant on your way out. You’ll hear from my office either way.”

“Oh.” I painfully uncrossed my right leg from my left before I stood. My skin peeled away, leaving a red mark.
Ouch.

I stood, a little lopsided, and tried to get my bearings. I should’ve switched positions at least once during the interview to prevent my leg from falling asleep.

After shaking it out, aware that I was the subject of scrutiny, I stepped forward to leave. My numb leg gave out. My knee knocked into the back of the desk with a loud
thud.
I fell forward, ungracefully sprawling across his desktop.

In a panic, I tried to right myself, but my leg was mostly useless. It stayed limp as my left leg pushed upward. My body swung toward the right.

I grunted, scrabbling my fingers across his desk, trying to find purchase and stop the slide. My elbow smashed into his phone, knocking it to the floor. Pens became airborne, launching across the desk. I grabbed the edge of his desk pad, dragging it with me as I tipped over the side. Gravity pulled at me greedily. My face rushed toward the ground.

Before I hit, strong hands grabbed me around the middle and hoisted me up. The desk pad crashed down. My résumé fluttered after it.

I knew a moment of confusion before I was righted, my body pulled into a chest so hard it could’ve been stone, flexed from picking me up in a dead weight. I clutched his shoulders, feeling the bulge of muscle through his suit jacket.

A sigh escaped my mouth. My lady parts tightened and then swelled, aching with the proximity of a man this divine. I melted against his body.

“Are you okay?” That deep bass tickled me in exquisite ways.

“Sorry.” The word floated on another sigh before reality smashed into my consciousness.

I was draping myself on the CEO of a huge, worldwide company. In an interview!

G
et it
here
:

Synopsis:

It was supposed to be easy... Just a quick trip to the wine country to help her good friend, Peter. 

She never expected to meet his bad boy brother...

Muscled, tattooed, and riding a Harley, Jace has Cassie’s heart racing and blood boiling. Struggling to keep her desire on a tight leash, she must do everything she can to keep Peter’s secret. But resisting that dimpled smile is harder than she could’ve ever imagined…

E
xcerpt
:

Wine, wine. Should she buy wine? They were in wine country, after all. And the house certainly had wine, but you could never have too much. Plus, it was classier than beer. But what if the family didn’t drink? Although redneck definitely meant beer.

“But aren’t rednecks keen on a certain type of beer?” she mumbled, still scanning the huge array of wines in front of her. She hadn’t even bothered to tear her eyes away to glance at the plethora of beer to her back.

“Excuse me?” a deep voice rumbled next to her.

Startled, she glanced up with an easy smile, used to people catching her talking to herself. She met beautiful, light brown eyes with a burst of gold at their center, staring at her with intense focus. High cheekbones and lush, shapely lips set off a defined jaw.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach and red bled into her face, the usual reaction to meeting an outstandingly gorgeous man for the first time.

 “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.” A giggle escaped. “I was just deciding if I should get a bottle of wine or a case of beer. Or both?”

She shrugged, her smile growing broader as she tried to stop her eyes from roaming lower, finding two hugely broad shoulders. His burly chest and muscular legs said he was a man of strength and power.

Another giggle bubbled up—her stupid nervous reaction to clear the rampant butterflies raging through her stomach. His concentrated, beautiful stare wouldn’t release her, though, prompting a sheen of sweat to cover her forehead.

Another giggle tore loose.

I sound like a schoolgirl. Good God, Cassie, get a grip!

She cleared her throat again, her stomach feeling like it was on a roller coaster with his big body so close and his ridiculously handsome face pointed her way.

How many throat clears were too many? Because she really wanted to do it again to stave off the nervous giggles threatening to turn into manic, evil laughter.

 “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this stupid.”

She shook her head to clear it and ripped her eyes away from that fabulous chest and back to the rack of wine in front of her.

“Can I help?” he asked, putting two large hands in the pockets of jeans.

Her gaze slipped sideways, unable to help herself. A sleeve of tattoos covered his heavily muscled left arm. His white tee-shirt, stretched over those shoulders and strained with his pecs and broad back fell loose around his waist, hinting at a thin waist to compliment trim hips.

His right arm, so close to her, flexed marginally, a thick cord of muscle dancing.

 “Ha ha ha!” She couldn’t help herself. Butterflies were running amok.

A quizzical expression slid over his handsome face, one eyebrow raising above the other, politely asking what was so outstandingly hilarious. In a moment he’d probably scan her wrist for mental ward identification….

“Sorry! I’m an idiot!” She fanned herself, the nervous laughter bubbling up like a clown on laughing gas. “Wine is not funny. Um. Sure? With the help? I’ve never seen so much wine in one place. Well, in a grocery store, anyway. A small grocery store, I mean.”

 “Is this for you or…” His deep voice vibrated within her pleasantly.

Another wave of giggles erupted. This was starting to get ridiculous.

“Right, okay.” She wiped away a tear as another chuckle got loose. “Ready to face the decisions.”

“Mind sharing the joke?”

Those beautiful eyes wouldn’t stop staring. It was like he was trying to worry away her defenses and fake outer layer to get a look at the real her underneath. It was disconcerting and exciting and strange all at the same time—especially since he was an incredibly hot stranger with a hot bad boy feel about him.

“Sorry, I’m just tired. Been driving a while.”

He continued to analyze her silently.

“Right. Okay. No, it’s a party. I don’t know anyone.”

His gaze scanned the floor next to her where she’d put down the flowers and chocolate. “Would you like me to get you a basket?”

“Oh no, no that’s fine.” She tried to force her hands into her pockets to hide her shaking. Her jeans were too tight, though. Damn skinny jeans. She couldn’t recall ever acting this stupid.

“Right, uh. Okay,” Cassie said, trying to get back some control of the situation. “So these people probably have wine, and the father may or may not be a redneck.”

It wasn’t just the good looks, though. That was lovely, but it was the raw, animalistic nature of this guy. He was so large and powerful, but so stoic. And that intent focus; it was like he had the power to wave away all other distractions and hone in on her individually; as if the world was a nuisance and he chose not to bother with it in favor of her.

She barely held back the laughter this time. Obviously her current life crisis was inventing scenarios with a perfect stranger. Time to get her crap and go. This had gone on long enough.

 “Stop.” Cassie focused on the wine in front of her.

“Excuse me?” He leaned in, the smell of pine and outdoors drifting from his body and flirting with her senses.

“Not you. Me. I need to get this stuff. I have a friend in the car. Um, okay. So, right, possibly affluent people, and possibly redneck. There are differing opinions.”

“Ah.” His brow furrowed and his lips quirked, humor dancing in those beautiful eyes. “Often, with a wine family, getting a bottle of somewhat exotic wine is a nice way of avoiding getting a bottle of local…less quality wine.”

“Oh, good point.” Cassie scanned the signs, and realized they were standing in the foreign section. She glanced over at him. “Using your own advice?”

He nodded once, his lips quirking harder. She wanted to make him smile. She had no idea why, but seeing that he was stopping himself from doing so made her want to force the issue.

Now was not a good time for her more irritating personality quirks to make an appearance, though. She already had the awkward ones sailing high.

“So…French?” she tried, reaching toward a bottle of Bordeaux.

He reached for a bottle of Chianti Classico Riserva. “I usually go with Italian. French can get trendy. Italian is usually just…Italian. Good, respected, and lets you fly under the radar.”

Nodding gratefully, because that’s exactly what she was after, she reached forward for the same bottle he chose. Seeing this, he moved to hand his bottle over to her. As her fingers brushed his, an electric shock lit her up—and not the pleasant, romantic kind. The kind from too much actual electricity that snaps into the skin and gives a jolt.

She flinched. The bottle, nearly into her hand, shook loose. Knowing it would fall, and knowing the path it would take—toward the ground, obviously—she reacted instantaneously, snatching the bottle with the same hand while the other dove forward for backup. His hand, equally quick, did the same thing. They ended up shoulder to shoulder, both clutching the bottle of wine a foot from the ground.

His gaze found hers again. Sparkling golden-brown with a tiny smile flirting on his lush lips. They straightened up together, both still holding the bottle, his fingers overlaying hers, large and warm and slightly rough. A man that could work with his hands.

“Sorry.” A small sigh cut off her giggles.

“Fast reactions.” He backed off slowly, his gaze sweeping her face before he took a step away. “I don’t usually see such quick reactions in a g—“ He cut off and glanced back at the rack.

“For a girl, huh?” she flashed him a wicked smile.

He shook his head, smile withered away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did!” She twirled her pointer finger at him. “I
am
quick for a girl. But maybe I’m also just plain quick. Quicker than you, maybe…”

His gaze slid her way slowly, a challenge sparkling in his gorgeous eyes. His lips quirked again. “May-be…”

She bent to pick up her chocolates. “A pushover. How boring. I’d totally rock your world in ping-pong.”

“Ping-pong?” His head tilted, his eyebrows furrowed again, trying to keep up with her random conversation skills. She didn’t make it easy.

“Yeah. Ping-pong. Because it’s the sport I’m the worst at. Obviously
this girl
would beat you at everything else.”

That smile flirted again. He rolled those huge shoulders and reached for a bottle of wine. “That right?”

“Destroy you. I’ve always been good
for a girl.
And usually better than all but the best guy. So…”

He turned to her, his big body dwarfing hers regardless that she was also tall for a girl. That intense, completely focused look was back, challenge burning brightly. “I’m always the best guy.” He winked and stepped around her.

He bent to the beer aisle and picked up a crate of Great White, a moderately strong ale. He glanced back at her and half-raised the crate. “Since I’m a redneck.” He moved away with powerful strides.

She glanced at the beer. Then at the wine. Then at her stuff on the ground. “He just got the last word.”

Well, that would never do.

She snatched up her stuff, grabbed the same brand of beer, since he hadn’t led her wrong with the wine—she hoped—and hurried after him. Except…with wine slung under one arm, and the beer in her hand, and the flowers starting to get crushed, and the chocolate…

“Oh crap.” The bottle started to wobble out of her grip. She bent her legs, somehow thinking this would work as a balancing tactic. It didn’t. The wine squirmed like a fighting child, trying to get free. The plastic on the flowers crinkled, one squeeze from being crushed.

I should’ve taken that offer for a basket.

She glanced up in desperation, about to put everything on the ground in the mouth of the aisle to figure out how to carry it if she didn’t find a store worker to help. Just then, she noticed that that glorious body was back, finishing two strides and then stopping at her side.

“Here.”

Eyes sparkling but face still stoic, he held out a red basket. He easily balanced his wine in the other arm with the beer in his hand.

“Not fair, your arm is four times the size of mine.” She put her stuff down and took the basket gratefully.

He helped her load the few things into the basket as his delicious smell of man and wilderness toyed with her senses. He eyed her beer choice silently.

“I copied you, O Lord of Rednecks.” Her face went red. “Figured you’d know best.”

“You don’t drink beer?” He didn’t move toward the check out.

She didn’t, either, content to stay and bask in this man’s gorgeousness and deep voice and muscles. Lots and lots of well-defined muscles. It was like a sea of glorious, cut muscle.

“I do, but not this stuff. Too strong. I don’t have the tolerance for it. I drink Corona, or Coors Light.”

That smile flirted again. He stepped around her into the aisle, coming back a moment later with a crate of Corona. He exchanged it for the Great White. “In that case, take Corona. It’s a crowd pleaser and middle of the road.”

“Kind of pushy, huh?” she said with a grin, arranging the basket so the flowers didn’t get flattened.

He hesitated, tugging her focus back up to him. His body posture had changed from his confident, rough-and-tumble bearing to just slightly rigid. “Sorry—I shouldn’t have presumed.” He reached for the Corona again.

“Oh my God, no.” She motioned him away like a guy in an orange vest directing airplanes on the runway. “No, this is good. I asked, right? I was just joking. Go put the Great White back—I don’t need it if I have the Corona.”

He paused again. That furrowed brow and quirked lip was back, struggling against a smile. “You harass me one minute, need help the next, give me crap, and then end with a command. How do you juggle all the personalities?”

She froze as her mouth dropped open, that assessment hitting a little too close to home. In fact, her last boyfriend had broken up with her for that very thing--she was a tornado that wore men out. Her utter chaos of personality drove people away.

Her heart sank as that fun-loving sparkle left the stranger’s eyes. “So you want the Corona, or…”

“Yup. Yes, the Corona will work. Sorry.” She dropped her hands, at a loss.

 “Then I’ll just put this back.” He hefted the Great White, hesitating.

 “Oh no, that’s okay. I can, if you want. I can do it.”

Without a word, he turned back to the aisle to put away the beer.

Way to jam up the good time with your issues, Cassie.

She scoffed at herself as she gathered her stuff and walked toward the checker like a grumbling old man. Where was her
head
lately? Up, down—she was all over the place.