Page 28 of Third Time’s a Charm

If I saw that look on anyone else, I’d say it was cold. Or, at the very least, cool. But hidden deep in the dark blue of his eyes, so deep it would be easy to miss it, is heat. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the ice melts from his expression, and he’s smiling in a way I’ve not seen from him before. And it’s lethal.

The rhythm of my steps falters, and I stumble. But Jasper catches me against his chest, the momentum of my weight not even causing him to stagger. We’re chest to chest. Warm, pungent juice flowing over our feet and ankles. Our gazes connect, and for a moment I imagine grape juice running fermented through my veins.

The moment is broken by another damn shriek. Our fellow pigeagers—is that even a word?—squeal as they threaten to topple over.

Both Jasper and I take a step back, putting almost the width of the barrel between us, although he doesn’t remove his hands from my hips where they grip incrementally tighter. His face is a mask more forbidding even than the one he wore way back when he first arrived. The kind that would give you frostbite if you tried to kiss him. Which should be a ridiculous thought, given where we are. Obviously.

I let out a wobbly laugh at the same time as Jasper clears his throat.

“That’s probably enough stomping for today.” He steps carefully out of the tub onto the little climbing stool while still managing to hold me steady. “I have emails that need my attention.”

And with a brief thank you to Grahame, he strides off towards our cabin without bothering to wash, shoulders stiff, pants still rolled up, feet and ankles stained purple almost to his knees.

He should look ridiculous. But he doesn’t. Because all I can see is the heat in his eyes, the wide-open pupils, as I leant against his chest.

Before the glacier rolled in. Yet again.

I hang out in the crushing room with Grahame and his team for the rest of the afternoon, then take a solitary walk along the river. I suspect Jasper needs a little space to process the shift in our dynamic. Because I might think we’re hurtling towards something between us, but based on the way he took off like a scalded cat this afternoon, it’s pretty clear he’s still fighting the attraction.

I get why.

In his mind, there’s no way either of us could, or should, act on any feelings between us. Because he’s my boss. I’m pretty sure his boss wouldn’t look kindly on him—what?—fucking the staff? Dating a subordinate? It probably goes against the employee code of conduct. Not that I’ve read it, because I’ve never had the need to know.

In his mind, it’s probably a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. Which is ironic.

The situation sucks because he’s the first man I’ve had even a passing interest in for such a long time.

My dating history is—as you might expect—a story of threes. Most guys bomb out on date number three. It seems like for them, date three is the date where they expect to ‘close the deal’ as one particularly charming guy put it. For me, date three is where I decide if it’s going anywhere. And usually it’s not to ‘rumpy-pumpy town’, as another described it. No surprises that was his last date.

My first serious boyfriend broke up with me after three months to go on a study exchange in Germany. He wanted to be free to fully explore life in Germany, and we could pick up where we left off when he got back. Which I totally understood, right?

Wrong.

The next one lasted three years. We were talking about moving in together when I discovered he’d developed a fondness for ‘the ponies’ as he described it. A bit of harmless betting on horse races. Turned out it was a great deal more than a bit, and if he characterised losing hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars at a time as harmless, we weren’t on the same page.

Since the next serious boyfriend, whoever he may be, will be Serious Boyfriend Number Three, I’m not expecting great things. In fact, maybe I need to just date someone and get it over with. I can only hope it fizzles in three months and I don’t waste another three years.

All that is to say, maybe I’m a little gun-shy with men. So you’d think taking up with my boss, and risking my career in the process, seems like a very bad idea indeed.

But as I said, my secret power is knowing the right thing to do and doing the wrong thing anyway.

Chapter Seventeen

Jasper

It takes everything in me not to break into a run as I walk away from the pigeage barrels. I can feel Louise watching me till I round the path and am out of sight. Hidden by the lush bushland gardens that provide privacy for the cabins dotted along the path towards the river.

What the hell must she be thinking?

I stomp up the three steps into the cabin. Three steps. I surprise myself by smiling. That must have given Louise the ick when we arrived. There’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed.

I need to stop thinking about Louise.

I take a few deep breaths, hoping my dick gets the message. Unfortunately, she’s left her bedroom door open, and a faint echo of her perfume floats towards me.

With a curse, I slam the bathroom door behind me, careful to make sure I lock it, and turn on the shower. I’m stripped and standing under the scalding water in seconds. Because I need to wash the stain of the grape juice off my feet.

If I take myself in hand and find a small measure of relief, well, nobody needs to know. Certainly not Louise.