Place Your Trust in Me Book Three (EBOOK)

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Sierra stirred the lemonade and gave it a quick taste before adding a few more lemon slices to the jug and stirring again. She poured a glass of lemonade and, her heart thumping, left the kitchen and headed up the stairs.

She was bringing Everett lemonade because it was an unseasonably warm day, drywalling was hot and dusty work, and she was a nice person.

It wasn’t because she wanted to check out his ass or wanted an excuse to hear his sexy as fuck voice. Nope, that wasn’t it. Because as good looking as he was, he was also kind of annoying, and he definitely found her irritating, so it’s not like he’d be so grateful for the lemonade that he’d offer to fuck her, right?

She’d hired Everett to drywall, not take her against the wall.

Too bad her stupid lady bits hadn’t gotten the message yet.

She walked down the hall and toward her bedroom. Everett, his skin and shirt covered in drywall dust and a dust mask pulled up to sit on top of his head, stood near the soaker tub still taking up space in her bedroom. He was studying his phone, and she cleared her throat. “Mr. Caine, I brought you some – oh fuck!”

The toolbox she’d just tripped over tipped onto its side, spilling various tools and screws and bolts onto the tile floor. She might have been okay and saved herself and the glass of lemonade if she hadn’t stepped directly on the screwdriver. She fell forward, the lemonade shooting out of the glass to spray all over Everett as Sierra slammed into him with the grace of a newborn zebra.

He caught her with a grunt, and she had just enough time to register how fucking good he smelled before they both fell into her new soaker tub, and she landed on him in a tangle of limbs and curses, whacking her head on the side of the tub.

Sprawled on top of Everett, her ears ringing and pain radiating out of her skull, she squinted at him when he said, “Jesus, are you okay?”

“I made you lemonade,” she said. She stared at his shirt. The lemonade soaked into it was now tinged a weird pink colour. “Not strawberry lemonade, though.”

She touched the wet material as Everett skimmed his fingers over her head.

“Ouch.” Even that gentle touch hurt like a son of a bitch. She stared at Everett. “Why do you look like you’re freaking out?”

Oh shit… those were blood drops on his shirt.

With visions of Everett needing to go to the hospital, but not before he promised to sue the shit out of her racing through her head, she touched his chest. “You’re bleeding. Tell me where you’re hurt. Can you sit up? Here, I’ll help you sit up.”

“Sierra, stop.” Everett’s arm anchored around her waist, preventing her from moving. “I’m not bleeding. You are.”