lingerie?
“I’d feel the same way if I was getting ready to buy this place,” Holly said.
He narrowed his gaze. “You curious about it?”
“Who wouldn’t be? Especially since I saw it for myself.”
Bryce rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“My curiosity?”
“No,” he said with a half grin. “I’m good with that—glad you’re here to share the strangeness. Maybe you can help me make sense of it. But the last thing I need is for a dead rumor to come back to life right about now.” He rested his hand just above her knee and squeezed gently. “Think we can keep this between us?”
Holly pressed her lips together tightly and gazed at the view for way too long. Bryce had almost become uncomfortable enough to say something when she shook her head and said, “I doubt it.”
His stomach lurched and he slid his hand away from her knee. Bowing his head, he stayed silent for a few seconds then cleared his throat. Heat flared in his face with each beat of his heart. He thought they had a good vibe going, and that she would understand. Granted, he hadn’t known her long, but he hadn’t pegged her as the gossipy type, nor the type that would sabotage his effort to get a positive start on his project. How deep was her animosity toward the lodge? Clearly his mission to change her mind about the place had failed.
“We’re going to need help,” she said. “But I think we can trust the people we’ll need to involve.”
A rush of relief poured through Bryce, leaving him feeling drained. Questioning his own judgment wore him out more than any extreme sport he’d ever tried. But he had to brace himself. He was likely to do plenty of second-guessing about his decision to buy the lodge. He could only hope he wouldn’t have any doubts when it came to Holly. She’d proven his intuition right this time, but they were just getting started.
“I think that deserves a toast.” He slid the straps of his backpack off his shoulders, unzipped it, and pulled out the bottle of Cottonwood Creek Pinot Noir he’d bought in town last night.
“You brought wine?” Her golden-brown eyes sparkled.
He handed her the bottle.
She read the label, nodding as he took two glasses from another compartment of his backpack. “I love Roy’s Pinot Noir. He drives here from Paonia every Sunday morning from June through September to sell his wines at the farmers market.”
Happy he’d made a good choice, Bryce leaned to one side, straightened his leg, and dug his camping knife out of the front pocket of his jeans. “Got a fancy corkscrew here,” he said, popping it out with a flick of his thumb.
She handed the bottle to him, her playful gaze set on his. “I’m counting on it.”
Bryce laughed, releasing some of the tension that had built up in his shoulders and neck. He opened the wine like a pro, even with a pocketknife corkscrew.
“Looks like you’ve had some practice with that thing,” Holly teased.
“Practice makes perfect.” He gave her a sultry smile. “At least that’s what they say.” He poured their glasses half full, corked the bottle, and set it beside him on the deck.
“Who is they?” She raised one eyebrow.
“The people who make up motivational mantras like that.” He handed Holly a glass, her fingers skimming over his as she took it from him.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you meant your girlfriends.”
“Hmm…Right now, there are none of those—singular or plural.” And there hadn’t been since his so-called relationship with Whitney had crashed and burned four months ago. There he’d been, thinking she was a hot, talented tech girl who had the luxury of working remotely one week out of every six, and the means to spend those weeks at his lodge in Costa Rica. She’d also had the means to rock his nights—silky dark hair, sultry brown eyes, a curvaceous body, and bold moves to match. Not usually his type, but he’d been willing to let her
“I’d feel the same way if I was getting ready to buy this place,” Holly said.
He narrowed his gaze. “You curious about it?”
“Who wouldn’t be? Especially since I saw it for myself.”
Bryce rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“My curiosity?”
“No,” he said with a half grin. “I’m good with that—glad you’re here to share the strangeness. Maybe you can help me make sense of it. But the last thing I need is for a dead rumor to come back to life right about now.” He rested his hand just above her knee and squeezed gently. “Think we can keep this between us?”
Holly pressed her lips together tightly and gazed at the view for way too long. Bryce had almost become uncomfortable enough to say something when she shook her head and said, “I doubt it.”
His stomach lurched and he slid his hand away from her knee. Bowing his head, he stayed silent for a few seconds then cleared his throat. Heat flared in his face with each beat of his heart. He thought they had a good vibe going, and that she would understand. Granted, he hadn’t known her long, but he hadn’t pegged her as the gossipy type, nor the type that would sabotage his effort to get a positive start on his project. How deep was her animosity toward the lodge? Clearly his mission to change her mind about the place had failed.
“We’re going to need help,” she said. “But I think we can trust the people we’ll need to involve.”
A rush of relief poured through Bryce, leaving him feeling drained. Questioning his own judgment wore him out more than any extreme sport he’d ever tried. But he had to brace himself. He was likely to do plenty of second-guessing about his decision to buy the lodge. He could only hope he wouldn’t have any doubts when it came to Holly. She’d proven his intuition right this time, but they were just getting started.
“I think that deserves a toast.” He slid the straps of his backpack off his shoulders, unzipped it, and pulled out the bottle of Cottonwood Creek Pinot Noir he’d bought in town last night.
“You brought wine?” Her golden-brown eyes sparkled.
He handed her the bottle.
She read the label, nodding as he took two glasses from another compartment of his backpack. “I love Roy’s Pinot Noir. He drives here from Paonia every Sunday morning from June through September to sell his wines at the farmers market.”
Happy he’d made a good choice, Bryce leaned to one side, straightened his leg, and dug his camping knife out of the front pocket of his jeans. “Got a fancy corkscrew here,” he said, popping it out with a flick of his thumb.
She handed the bottle to him, her playful gaze set on his. “I’m counting on it.”
Bryce laughed, releasing some of the tension that had built up in his shoulders and neck. He opened the wine like a pro, even with a pocketknife corkscrew.
“Looks like you’ve had some practice with that thing,” Holly teased.
“Practice makes perfect.” He gave her a sultry smile. “At least that’s what they say.” He poured their glasses half full, corked the bottle, and set it beside him on the deck.
“Who is they?” She raised one eyebrow.
“The people who make up motivational mantras like that.” He handed Holly a glass, her fingers skimming over his as she took it from him.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you meant your girlfriends.”
“Hmm…Right now, there are none of those—singular or plural.” And there hadn’t been since his so-called relationship with Whitney had crashed and burned four months ago. There he’d been, thinking she was a hot, talented tech girl who had the luxury of working remotely one week out of every six, and the means to spend those weeks at his lodge in Costa Rica. She’d also had the means to rock his nights—silky dark hair, sultry brown eyes, a curvaceous body, and bold moves to match. Not usually his type, but he’d been willing to let her
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