Page 13 of Not Your Ex's Hexes
She’d known he’d had the body of a Roman god, but she’d come to that conclusion by touch alone since for their one and only time together, they’d remained mostly clothed. She sure as hell hadn’t seen the elaborate artwork decorating his skin, or the smooth glide of his firmly packed muscles.
Her gaze automatically dropped to his chest and Goddess help her, the ridged valley of his eight-pack abs and that sexy Adonis belt…
She yanked her gaze up, but her ogling didn’t go without notice.
Damian cocked a single eyebrow, his mouth twitching. “Long time no see, little witch. Oh, and you’re late.”
“I’m right on time.”
“Right on timeislate when it comes to handling the animals. That’s the first thing you should probably commit to memory.”
She forced a smile. “Then consider it memorized.”
Miguel’s focus bounced between them before the older man smothered a grin. “I’ll leave the two of you to go over things. Ian, I’m heading to the supply store to change up our order and see where we can make some tweaks.”
“Sounds good.” Damian nodded.
They both watched Miguel disappear from view, and when Rose spun around, it was Damian’s turn to ogle her. His gaze ran from her no-longer pristine white sneakers to her butter-soft jeans and silky tee… but unlike her blatantly sexual appraisal, his was more assessing.
“Who’s Ian?” Rose asked in an attempt to break the sudden tense silence.
Damian’s eyes flickered up to hers. “What?”
“He called you Ian.”
“Miguel has a thing for nicknames.” He gave her another once-over. “You did remember you’ll be working in an animal sanctuary, right? With actual animals?”
She glanced at her clothes. “Yes, but it’s not like I need to wear something fancy to do paperwork.”
“Office work?” He chuckled and sauntered closer, stopping only when his body heat warmed her skin. “Did you forget about the horse stalls I mentioned? The horses haven’t learned how to shovel their own shit in the last twenty-four hours.”
Rose stilled. “You were serious about that…”
“I don’t usually joke.”
He leaned closer, his damp chest nearly brushing hers as he reached out a hand. For a hot second, she pictured him slipping those callused fingers into her hair and pushing her against the wall for a soul-searing kiss.
Instead, he plucked something from the hook behind her shoulder, and gently tucked it into her arms. “You’ll want to put these on. And there are rubber boots outside Butternut’s stall you’ll want to slide those pretty feet into.”
Rose glanced at the oversized jeans coveralls in her hands. Paint-splattered and grimy, they’d obviously seen better days… and unless her nose deceived her, they smelled as though they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a while.
“You expect me to wear these… and boots?”
He skirted past her and shrugged. “It’s up to you, but unless you’re into horse-shit pedicures, you may want to think about it. Or you could always go back to your Council friends and tell them to reassign you somewhere else. We both know you won’t last the day here. You’d have to know the difference between a horse and an ass.”
She javelined a glare his way, and the damn man smirked. “Oh, I know the difference. Butternut’s a horse, and I’m looking at an ass right now.”
Damian crossed his arms over his naked chest, the move bulging out his biceps, one of which had a circle tattoo around its diameter. “Is that right?”
“One hundred percent.” Rose took a daring step closer, until it was her that stopped in front of him this time, her dirty shoes touching his boots. “And I’ll have you know that not only will I last the whole day, but I’ll keep coming back until I fulfill all my community service hours because I am a Maxwell. And Maxwell women don’t quit.”
Well…
Except she’d stepped down as the Prima Apparent.
And then she’d quit her short stint as a telemarketer.
She didn’t have high hopes for her current job as a Ryde driver, either, already having two strikes with her supervisor. Butthiswould be one job she refused to shirk, and she’d see it through until the very bitter end even if she had to wear a dingy-feathered chicken suit that smelled like warmed-up tuna fish.
