All That Jazz (Butler Cove #1)(17)

A sharp tap landed on my shoulder and I leapt off the ground, my heart staying up lodged in my throat in shock. “Shit!” screeched out of my mouth before I could stop it. I whipped around with a loud yelp to be confronted with a half naked looming male and stumbled back a step, yanking my ear buds out of my ears.

“Hey,” the guy said, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I called out, but I guess,” he motioned to an ear, “you had your music on fairly loud.”

He had brown floppy hair and light eyes, and his mouth eased into a faint smile. My eyes did a quick inventory for concealed weapons but was distracted by his athletic and naked upper body, I never got as far as his navy blue swim shorts. And not looking for concealed weapons in his shorts felt like a supreme act of human will. Wow, he was cute. Or I was in a heightened state of response having just had a thousand mini heart attacks in the span of three seconds.

“I’m Chase. We’re here for three weeks sooooo …”

I swallowed and shook my head to clear my shock and my dismay at realizing we’d entered a house that was occupied. “Oh wow, sorry. I didn’t, um, uh, I’m not sure if my papers said that.” I’d left them downstairs with my cleaning bag.

“No, it’s okay. We requested cleaning service while we were here because my family’s coming this week. Today, actually.” He dipped his head and pulled on a tuft of soft hair. “It was just me and my buddies last week.”

“Oh, right. So do you need me to change your room, or …”

“If that’s okay? I was just coming up to grab something.”

He looked at me expectantly. I stared back. What?

“Uh, I need to get past you?”

I startled. “Right. Sorry.” I scrambled to the side and out of the doorway.

He chuckled, his grin deepening. Hottie alert. Gah!

“What were you listening to?” he asked, nodding at the earbuds I was holding before grabbing the book that was on the bedside table of his unmade messy queen bed. I couldn’t see the title. And anyway, his tanned shoulder blades were too distracting to worry about what he was holding in his hands.

He turned back around, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” Oh my God. Where was my brain? “Oh, um. The Wombats. They’re—”

“A British band. I know.” His brow furrowed even as his mouth showed he was amused, and he shook his head. “Terrible name. Great music.”

I nodded, agreeing completely.

“Okay, well,” he waved his book absently, “I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry for scaring you.”

“Fine. That’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But I’m fine. No harm done.” Stop talking! “What are you reading?” I imagined an out of body experience where I walked over to the wall and hit my head against it repeatedly.

No fraternizing with vacationers was at the top of our Rules and Conduct Manual. Not that we were fraternizing. Wait, what did fraternizing mean, exactly?

He looked down at the book in his hand as if he didn’t know, which was my first sign that he wasn’t as cool and calm as he was letting on. The tiniest part of me preened as I thought he might also think I was attractive. I did a quick mental inventory of what I must look like. No make up, ratty and extremely short jean cutoffs I didn’t mind messing up, stained t-shirt, sweaty skin and wild hair yanked into messy bun with head band to keep wisps out of my eyes. No. And no.

I deflated immediately.

“Uh …” He read the title of the book in his hand like it was the first time he’d seen it. “Um. The Wolf of Wall Street.”

“That who you hope to be one day?” I asked, totally overstepping my boundary. The hired help did not ask questions like that. No fraternizing with vacationers.

“How do you know I’m not already?” He faced me, his eyes friendly but challenging and whoa, I took a direct hit of charm.

“You don’t look old enough,” I responded, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Or corrupt enough?”

“That’s not for me to say.” I laughed, awkwardly.

“You local?”

I shrugged. “Yes.”

“Do you have a name, local girl?”

No fraternizing with vacationers. “Jessica. But my friends call me Jazz.”

“Jazz,” he stated, then nodded and turned back for the door, gracing me with his impeccable back muscles again. Was he a rower? He could totally be a rower. He was probably an Ivy League frat boy rower.

My shoulders slumped a little in disappointment as he started to leave. No fraternizing with vacationers, I reminded myself. What had just happened? Probably the reverse of the rules on his side, which stated: No fraternizing with the help. Anyway, what was I thinking? He was cute, but I didn’t know the first thing about him. He looked about college age, but for all I knew his family that was supposedly arriving today could be his wife and kids, rather than his parents, which I’d originally assumed.

I turned back to the unmade bed.

“Hey, Jazz?”

He stood a few treads down the stairwell out in the hall where he could see directly into the room. Good thing I wasn’t sniffing his sheets. Which, duh, I was totally not going to do. But I was intrigued, and curious, and my lady parts were telling me he smelled as yummy as he looked. “Yes, Chase?”