Home > Chasing Serenity (River Rain #1)(6)

Chasing Serenity (River Rain #1)(6)
Author: Kristen Ashley

And when he came down again a half an hour later to hit Rix’s office to make some copies because the copier in the corporate offices at the top level was busted, he noticed she was still there.

He also noticed he had further evidence she was bad news.

That evidence?

The sheer number of boxes of boots that she was trying on scattered around her.

She looked like she’d not set foot on a hiking trail in her life.

And she looked like she was there because she’d already trolled through all the boutiques around the square, but this hadn’t assuaged her shopping fix, because nothing really did.

Therefore, there was a possibility, after making a member of staff bring her fifteen pairs of shoes, she’d walk out not buying anything.

She’d do this not thinking a thing of it.

However, he noted some of the boots she was trying on were riding boots, and Judge could see that round ass of hers in the saddle on top of a horse.

Wearing a riding habit.

Even if she was trouble, and he had not the slightest interest (or he was telling himself that), he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Because he was a moron.

That said, she caught his gaze every time.

So he was looking.

But so was she.

His instincts proved true when he came down for the third time with more to copy, and he again walked through the shoe section to get to the office in the back. Doing this close to where she was seated, still trying on boots, because, yes, in the fifteen minutes between then and now, he had not stopped being a moron.

And again, she caught his gaze.

He had no clue why, but as her gorgeous hickory brown eyes hit his, he muttered, “Nice booties.”

Her back shot straight, and she demanded, “What did you just say?”

Yup.

Moron.

He shook his head in an effort to shake some sense into it, then dipped his chin to her and kept walking.

“Excuse me,” she snapped, and Judge continued on his way, but looked over his shoulder at her. “What did you just say to me?” she repeated when she caught his eyes.

“Nothing, miss, have a nice day,” he replied.

“Do you work here?” she asked.

He drew breath into his nose, stopped and turned to face her.

She’d been sitting.

She was now standing.

Fucking fuck.

Straight on and standing close to her?

She wasn’t beautiful.

She was stunning.

Facing her, not for the first time, Judge wished Prescott was a good two hours further from Scottsdale. Being an easy drive away, it was one of the weekend playgrounds for people like her.

Now, it was September, when temperatures around Phoenix were gearing down, so things would peter off with folks from down south coming up to get away from the heat.

Coming up to play weekend warrior, do stupid shit at campsites, bring up their guns and shoot things when they had no clue how, or any intention of field dressing a deer, not to mention eating its meat.

Tossing their water bottles during a hike, and not doing that in trash receptacles.

Having disposable water bottles at all.

Looking down on the townies.

But there she was.

Tall. Shiny, chocolate brown hair. Slender but curvy.

But for Judge (outside the hair, and those long-ass legs), it was her neck.

Her neck was long and graceful, which made her seem almost…

Vulnerable.

When he knew she was probably not.

And her hands.

Those hands were insanely beautiful.

Because of the man he was and the life he liked to live, even though it made him stupid, and this was part of the reason he was a moron (and all the other parts surrounded his taste in women as well), he got off on the way she dressed.

Judge had always liked a woman who looked after herself in that way (and others, and those others didn’t revolve around her hiking or climbing or doing something to keep fit, but instead things like giving herself facials and having polished nails—like he hadn’t learned the hard way, repeatedly, that opposites did not attract).

Her way of dressing was overtly expensive. Smart. Lowkey dramatic (and yeah, she made those opposing concepts work together). And she had a definite personal style she was completely confident in.

She also had a significant attitude, if the flash in those eyes was anything to go by.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“So you do work here,” she stated.

“I do, ma’am, I—”

He said no more when she griped, “Oh my God, do not call me ‘ma’am’.”

Judge nearly laughed.

Instead of doing that, he started, “I’m sorry, I—”

He again got no more out.

“You should be sorry,” she declared. “Do you often walk through the store that employs you, making personal comments to the customers?”

He’d done that.

He’d said two words, but the words he said were not what he meant, and she hadn’t missed it.

It was uncool.

But he knew why he did it.

Because he didn’t even know this woman’s name, and she was under his skin, so he’d done it angling for what was happening right then.

The particulars of that, however…

They weren’t something he was going to think about.

And now he needed to move on from what he’d instigated and get far away from her…and fast.

“You’re right, I should have kept my mouth shut,” he admitted. “You have my apologies.” He patted his chest with a flat palm. “Sincerely. I was out of line.”

She watched his hand on his chest, and for some reason, she got even more ticked when she did.

She then raised her eyes to his.

And he felt a variety of things in a variety of places (and regrettably, one of those places was his dick), when he saw she was not going to let this go.

She was going to dig in.

Deep.

“And I asked, do you do that often?” she demanded.

“I apologized, and—”

“An apology must be accepted,” she sniffed.

“And it should be,” he shot back, “if it’s genuine. Which it was.”

She raised a perfectly arched, perfectly waxed, dark brow.

“Was it?” she asked, making clear she knew the answer and it wasn’t what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Of course it—”

“Please,” she drawled. “Don’t assume I’m stupid.”

“I’m not assuming you’re stupid,” he returned. “In fact, if I made an assumption about you, that wouldn’t be it.”

What the fuck are you doing, man? Don’t goad the woman. Walk away.

Her head cocked, which wasn’t a surprise. What was in it undoubtedly was her weapon of choice.

“And what would that assumption be?” she inquired.

“How about you get on with your day, and I do the same thing?” he suggested.

“No, I’d really like to know what that assumption would be,” she pushed.

And Judge let her push him.

He knew why he did.

He also wished he didn’t.

He looked her down and up, then down again, making sure to take in the boxes of riding boots, hiking boots, rain boots, and for shit’s sake, a pair of mountaineering boots, and finally, the delicate, expensive, spike heeled booties she’d walked in on, then back to her.

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