Coldhearted Boss(55)

Well that went amazingly well. I tried to extend an olive branch, and Ethan broke it over his knee and tossed it in my face. I don’t understand him—truly. Being around him is on par with traversing a minefield. I’m failing miserably.

Every time I try to push us in the direction of friendship and peace, he seems to want to do the exact opposite.

Sometimes I truly think this is who he is—a mean, spiteful man—but I know that’s not the case. I’ve seen glimpses of another side of him, moments when he’s on the phone with his sister or playing cards with Robert. There’s an easygoing, charming side to him, a compelling, smiling, warmhearted man I’d really like to get to know.

Of course, I probably never will.

He stays out of the cabin the rest of the night, or at least until I’m asleep. When I wake up in the morning, I hear soft sounds coming from the bathroom: the ting of a toothbrush as it hits a cup, the sink running and then cutting off. I blink my eyes open and immediately search for him.

The bathroom door is cracked just enough that I can peer past the frame. I have a clear view of him and my lips part on impulse.

He’s standing at the sink with a towel wrapped around his waist.

The air in the cabin is spiced with his body wash and I inhale deeply, filling my lungs as I watch him lean forward and drag his razor down the bottom of his cheek and jaw. The tan muscles in his back flex as his arm moves and I’m a spectator at a tennis match, my eyes flitting from one swoon-worthy part of him to another: wide shoulders, tapered waist, the smooth ridge of muscles across his shoulders and biceps.

But that’s just the back of him. The mirror reflects his abs and chest too, and I want to kick off my blankets, suddenly overheated, but I can’t. I’d draw attention to myself and the fact that I’m awake, lying here, worshiping him with my eyes without him realizing it.

His razor glides along another patch of his cheek and I watch, enraptured. I’d love to feel his skin there: the juxtaposition of his freshly shaved, smooth skin and hard jaw. He’s more tan now than he was a few weeks ago from all the work we’ve been doing outside. It sets off his brown hair and brown eyes even more, one playing off of the other, making his eyes seem lighter, his hair darker.

He finishes shaving quickly, rinses off the excess cream, and then turns.

I jerk my eyes closed again.

His smooth-as-scotch voice is only heightened by my lack of sight. “I could feel you watching me. Don’t pretend to sleep.”

I wink one eye open to see he’s over at the dresser, grabbing clothes.

“If you don’t get up,” he continues, “you’ll be late for work.”

“You were hogging the bathroom,” I point out tartly, a little embarrassed to have been caught.

“Well it’s free now.”

I grind my molars and jerk the blankets off me, moving to the ladder. He doesn’t move out of the way, and I don’t bother asking him to. I start to climb down and the backs of my bare legs brush across his shoulder and arm. I’ve been sleeping in oversized t-shirts lately, foregoing the sweatpants. It’s the only way to keep cool now that spring has given way to summer, at least temperature-wise.

I hurry the rest of the way down and he steps back, trying to give me space. It only makes the problem worse. We’re fumbling in that tight corner, trying to get around each other. His warm skin seems to envelop me. His body wash is almost overpowering and yet intoxicating. My arm brushes his abs. Our feet dance around each other. I let out an exasperated laugh at the same time his hands lock onto my biceps. Then he plucks me up off the ground and deposits me in the bathroom, out of his way.

“Sorry,” I squeak lamely.

He grunts and turns, leaving me frowning at his back.

We get ready in silence and he’s about to head out the door before he speaks up again.

“This weekend, I have friends coming to visit. Since you’ll be here, I thought you’d like to know.”

I gulp.

He’s not leaving?

The only thing getting me through the last few days was the knowledge that I’d soon have a three-day weekend without him, a few days to regroup and put a lid on this boiling pot of tension.

I have no choice. I have to leave. Scram. Hitchhike. Walk. Staying here at the camp this weekend with Ethan is not a scenario I want to play out. There would be no survivors.

I hurry to finish getting ready and then rush to find Max at breakfast. He’s smack dab in the middle of a sea of guys, and every one of them greets me with a warm smile and a friendly wave.

“Taylor! You hungry? Want me to grab you a plate?”

I fend off their generous offers and nod my head toward the door.

“Max, do you have a second?”

Everyone’s brows shoot up.

They’re intrigued about why I’d need to speak with Max privately. No doubt they’re reading too much into the situation, about to start singing Max and Taylor sittin’ in a tree, but I don’t have time to care because I need to speak with Max now.

“What’s up?” he asks once we’re outside. His blond hair has grown longer in the weeks we’ve been here. He looks more boyish than ever—the antithesis of my bunkmate.

I wring out my hands. “You’ve been catching a ride home on the weekends with Nolan, right?”

He nods.