Page 20 of Third Time’s a Charm

I try hard not to look at the doorway to the room I think of as ‘mine’, but I can’t help myself. And Jasper notices.

“I think I’ll take this one.” He rolls his suitcase into the other room and closes the door behind him.

Did he just work out which room I preferred and ensure I got the one I wanted? I think he did.

Who’d have thought under that cool exterior was a man who cared about someone having their favourite room?

Jasper has been holed up in his chosen room for over an hour. I can hear him tapping away on his laptop, so I guess he’s working. Or maybe chatting online to someone at home.

It occurs to me I have no idea if he’s single, in a relationship or even married. He doesn’t wear a ring, but not everyone does.

My stomach drops in a way that’s disproportionate to the level of disappointment I should feel. There should be no disappointment. At all. He’s a work colleague. My boss, cubed. That’s it. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little part of me that imagines I’ve occasionally caught him looking at me in a certain way.

Which raises the question of why I’ve had a shower and changed into fresh clothes for dinner. Normally, I just head on out. We’re in country New South Wales. Nobody stands on ceremony. Nobody dresses up for a Wednesday night dinner at the pub or the Thai on Kendal Street.

I need to get out of my own head—or somewhere a little further south—and focus on what’s important here. Convincing Jasper to back my plan.

If only he weren’t so damn appealing. The way he talked to Marty and Phil and the other farmers we visited. His insightful comments and questions. His deep knowledge. His obvious fascination with how the industry here differs from Europe.

And the way he looked thoroughly edible while doing it. With his earnest expression and his floppy curl and his flexing thighs.

Gah.

I’m about to knock on his door and ask what he wants to do for dinner when it flies open, catching me with my hand in the air, and he emerges. His laptop sits open on the little desk under the window behind him.

“Give me five minutes for a quick wash and I’ll be ready.”

The bathroom door closes; taps run. An electric toothbrush whirs. And I pace the tiny lounge room. All the while imagining he’s taken his shirt off. Because who washes their face with their shirt on? I mean, that’s just an invitation to get it wet, isn’t it?

Oooh. Wet shirt …

I was right. Because seconds later the bathroom door opens and a shirtless Jasper—oh dear God, shoeless too, I hadn’t noticed that before—exits, and almost runs into me in the small space. His steps falter as our gazes lock. My breath catches at his unguarded expression, all heat and frustration. At the muscular expanse of his chest, one solitary drip of water running down his left pec. At the Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. Without a word he turns and disappears once again into his bedroom, closing the door with a quiet but decisive snap. Leaving me a gelatinous mess held together by seared skin and sizzling nerves.

There’s rustling. A throat clearing. The sound of a zipper. And in moments, Jasper, in a fresh shirt, damp hair combed, is standing in front of me. Face as impassive as usual.

I have no idea how long he stands there. All I can do is stare. Attempting to burn the shirt off his chest so I can get another look at those muscles. His expression suggests he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He probably does. It’s undoubtedly written all over my face. And I expect he gets looks like this all the time. Poor man.

After what could be seconds or hours, he shakes his head.

“Actually, I have a lot of work to get through. I might just get takeaway and work through if it’s all the same to you.” His tone is gruff, bordering on impolite.

It takes a moment for my brain to engage my mouth.

“Oh, um. Sure. I can … I can order takeaway for us. What would you like?”

“Whatever you think. Let me know when it gets here.” He returns to his room, once again closing the door between us.

Awkward.

I look down at the fresh clothes I’ve put on. I’m annoyed at myself. Annoyed I got dressed up. And annoyed I feel awkward about his snub.

It’s probably best we aren’t going out because I won’t be able to eat dinner now, since I’ve just about bitten through my tongue in a vain attempt to avoid making a complete goose of myself.

Chapter Twelve

Jasper

Icurse under my breath as the door closes behind me. I knew coming on a road trip with Louise would be an exercise in self-restraint.