Resisting the Musician (a Head Over Heels Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) Read Free

him.
    Lori was somewhat mollified to see the weapon over his shoulder turn out to be a stick. A big stick, sure. The perfect kind to throw to a dog…or two.
    When he shot her a guarded glance through a pair of bedroom eyes she knew the sooner she got this over and done with the sooner she could get back to the real world.
    But when she opened her mouth for the second time she was once again stymied, as his eyes squeezed shut and he gave into a huge yawn, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his arms bulging.
    His rumpled T-shirt lifted at his belly to reveal a happy trail and the fact that the top two buttons of his jeans had been left undone, as if he’d rolled out of bed, tugged them on, and headed off into the wilderness.
    Also leaving her with the pretty sound impression that he wore nothing underneath.
    When Callie had mentioned meeting Jake’s elusive, reclusive ex-band-mate a few weeks before, Lori had briefly imagined an overweight, overly-tattooed guy who reeked of bourbon and past glory.
    Instead, she’d found Thor.
    “I’m Lori Hanover,” she said finally finding her voice.
    He slowly opened one eye. “I’m not buying.”
    “I’m not selling.”
    With a last expulsion of breath, the guy moved forward into the pale sunlight which flowed over a set of shoulders wide enough to give Atlas a run for his money, the nut brown skin of an arm with strings of rope and beads wrapping about a mighty wrist, a heavily shadowed jaw, and a nose that had taken a knock too many.
    The guy leaned his large form against the doorframe and crossed his arms; the picture of perfectly unperturbed. Except for the fact that he’d quite deliberately blocked the way in.
    “So, if you’re not selling anything,” he rumbled, “and you’re clearly not Reg, what compelled you to ignore the ‘No Trespassing Or My Vicious Dogs Will Eat Your Liver For Brunch’ sign?”
    In sentences three words and less his voice was riveting. Longer, it was rich and smooth, with a hint of an accent she couldn’t pick out.
    “The sign lied,” Lori prevaricated, as if she didn’t have a million things she ought to be doing with her time other than standing in this doorway in the middle of nowhere falling into the slumberous dark eyes of a hulking stranger.
    His wide mouth flickered up at one corner. She would have bet a mint the guy was well aware how a smile like that would play with any female within range.
    “If you want liver-eaters for dogs,” she said, standing taller to negate the urge to fan herself, “they need discipline.”
    One meaty shoulder lifted into a shrug. “Never been that keen on the stuff myself.”
    “Liver?”
    “Discipline.”
    He touched the side of his nose and she wondered how many times it had been broken. And how big the other guys must have been.
    “What is it I can do for you this beautiful day, Lori Hanover?”
    Beautiful? Lori glanced over her shoulder at the gray-green drizzle in the air. She caught sight of Mack watching her from the car, window down, big arm leaning on the ledge, his daughters’ social networking antics taking a back seat once the door had been answered by the God of Thunder. Good man.
    Yet, if her company continued its rate of decay, she’d have to let Mack go. He was in his sixties, and a father to four girls. Losing his job in this economy would put unbelievable strain on his family. Her own father had decamped with far less impetus to do so.
    Stomach twisting as it did more often than not these days, Lori slipped off her sunglasses and gave Mack an everything’s fine wave. She tucked the handle of her shades into the neckline of her dress as she turned. Thor’s gaze followed the movement and stayed. Unapologetically.
    When her insides curled tighter under the shameless attention, she remembered her mud-ravaged shoes, her concertinaing schedule, and his friendship with the man who was systematically ruining her life.
    “You’re a hard man to track down. My