He grinned at her. He didn’t have dimples per se, but he did have those smile brackets that creased his cheeks. He rocked the short whiskers on his face, which seemed carefully cultivated to look like an effortless scruff. His white dress shirt was open at the collar giving her a tantalizing glimpse at his neck and a hint of chest. Peyton crossed her legs under the table, squeezing her thighs together. It seemed like years since she’d felt this turned on and she didn’t even know the guy.

     “I wasn’t sure that you appreciated my help,” he said.

     She grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was having a rough...