Bringing Home the Bachelor. Sarah M. Anderson

Billy stood up—all God-only-knew how many inches and pounds of him rose to his feet, slow and steady and not the least bit intimidated by her.

      Jenny swallowed, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated by him, either. Even though he could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder like some big, gorgeous caveman, if he wanted to.

      “Calm down.”

      Of all the nerve—was he actually going to try to talk his way out of this? “I will do no such thing. If I have my way, you won’t be back on this reservation tomorrow. What is wrong with you? Stripping in front of a bunch of school children? Picking up my car? Threatening Seth? Are you insane?”

      As she spoke, Billy walked around the table. He wasn’t moving at tackling speeds, but his destination was unmistakable. She took one step backward, then another as Billy advanced on her.

      “What are you doing?” she demanded.

      Another step toward her. When he saw the effect he was having on her, one of his eyebrows notched up, which made him look almost amused. “Talking. To you.” Another step. “You still sweeping?”

      “What?”

      It was only when Seth said, “Yes, sir,” that she realized he hadn’t been talking to her.

      One more step.

      “This is talking? You’re trying to frighten me, but it won’t work,” she said as he boxed her into a corner, an intense look on his face. She should be terrified—maybe she was—but that didn’t explain the goose bumps that were all over her. Everything about her was tuned in to him—the way his muscles coiled and uncoiled with each step, the way he was...smiling? Was that possible?

      Then, unexpectedly, Billy stopped while still a good four feet from her and looked over his shoulder. She was almost in a corner, but if she broke to the left fast enough, she could probably make it out the door. But if she did that, she’d leave Seth in here with this man, and she didn’t want to do that.

      This was a clear example of the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. Except that in both cases, Billy Bolton was the devil.

      When he faced her again, one corner of his mouth was unmistakably curved into a smile. “No, this is talking.”

      The sight of Billy Bolton grinning—at her—threw whatever Jenny had been planning to say right out the window.

      Oh, my. Somewhere, underneath that beard and the dark glares was a very handsome man with surprisingly kind eyes. Her mind flashed back to the expanse of muscle she’d seen earlier that afternoon. Muscles and more muscles, covered in tattoos that should have scared the stuffing out of her, but all she’d thought of doing was tracing the lines on his skin and reading the story he’d written there.

      Those vicious goose bumps ran rough all over her body, but this time, heat flashed behind them, leaving her skin quivering. Heck, her whole body quivered. Including parts of her that hadn’t quivered in years.

      “What are you going to do?” she asked, and was mortified to hear her voice come out somewhat lower and huskier than normal.

      His eyes—a silky brown—darkened, and for a flash of a second, his gaze darted down to her lips. Her body, acting of its own volition, responded by darting her tongue out and licking her lips.

      It was like they were doing a dance, one with tiny, complex steps. The air sharpened between them, and she felt her head tip back. He responded by sucking in air, and she felt her body do the same thing. Two bodies moving in time together, creating a rhythm all their own.

      It had been a long time since she’d danced. A long time since she’d wanted to dance.

      And she wanted to dance with Billy Bolton, of all the wildly inappropriate people.

      She had to get control of this situation before something terrible happened, like Billy pinning her to the wall, pressing all those muscles against her and kissing the heck out of her.

      Yes. That would be terrible, indeed. Awful. Possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

      So why did she want so badly for him to do exactly that?

      “Nothing you don’t want me to.”

      And he stopped. No more steps toward her, no more hungry looks. No more dancing.

      Jenny forced away all thoughts of her body moving in time with Billy’s. They didn’t go very far, just to the back of her mind, but far enough that she could think. “I will not have you threaten my son with such language.” Her voice was still sultry. “Nor will I have you putting on such an indecent display in front of the children.”

      “Josey told me to go around the side of the school to get miked up so I wasn’t in front of the other kids. I didn’t know your classroom was there.” Almost imperceptibly, he leaned in. The distance between them felt so sharp she thought it might cut her.

      She could see Josey doing that. She’d assumed he’d been acting like his brother Bobby—showing off, making a scene—but she could see him trying to do the right thing. Maybe. “You were threatening Seth.”

      “With kicking him out of the shop if he doesn’t pull his weight. Are you going to feed me to the coyotes for that?”

      He tilted his head and looked her over again. Anytime she wanted to stop quivering would be great.

      “You moved my car.”

      “You want me to move it back?” Then he flexed. It wasn’t an exaggerated thing, but his chest and arms tightened under the shirt, then released.

      Jenny’s breath caught. Apparently, she’d lost her mind at some point in the past few minutes, because she wanted to tell him to do just that—but only if he took his shirt off.

      “No.”

      “How old are you?”

      Heat flooded her cheeks. “You can’t ask me that.”

      Billy jerked his chin over his shoulder. “How old is he?”

      Much more heat and she was going to start sweating. “That is none of your business!” And before she could stop herself, she asked, “How old are you?”

      He didn’t even hesitate. Men. “Thirty-four.”

      Five years older than she was.

      “Mr. Bolton? I swept the floor.”

      The sound of Seth’s voice snapped Jenny out of her man-induced insanity. “You what?”

      “He swept up.” Billy swung around and surveyed the shop. “Not bad, kid.”

      “He what?” Jenny looked at the now-clean shop floor. “Seth cleaned something? Because you threatened him?”

      Billy looked back over his shoulder at her—only a quick glance, but Jenny felt the disapproval of his gaze. Then he walked around the shop, studying the floor. “Not bad at all,” he said to Seth, and Jenny couldn’t miss the way Seth’s face lit up at the compliment.

      What the heck? She and Seth fought over chores all the time, but Billy Bolton had him looking happy to clean?

      When had she lost all control over the situation?

      Oh, yeah—the moment she’d gotten out of her car this morning.

      “So, did I do a good enough job? Can I help you in the morning?”

      Jenny shook her head, trying to remember the last time she’d seen Seth look this excited about something.

      “Depends on what your mother says.”

      That was the last thing she expected to come out of Billy’s mouth.

      “What?” That was how many whats in the past five minutes? She was starting to sound clueless—a feeling she hated.

      Billy