Read Resisting the Musician (a Head Over Heels Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) for Free Online Page B

educate, and shelter her sweet little sister, when their devastated mother could barely drag herself out of bed.
    If she was feeling kind, she could say her father’s exodus had taught her strength, perseverance, tenacity, and that when it came down to it she and Callie couldn’t fully count on anyone but each other.
    Google had taught her that Dash Mills had the same capacity to blithely walk away. Meaning she’d have to be on top of him with this project—figuratively, of course—every inch of the way.
    About to knock, Lori heard the unmistakable sound of claws scrambling against wood. She’d forgotten the dogs, but, alas, around the corner of the porch they bolted; great tongues lolling, ears back, eyes bright, on a mission.
    “No, no, no!” Too late. One pulled up so fast it landed on its backside, but still managed to trail a wet nose down her bare calf. The other had more finesse, slowing gracefully to sink its nose into her crotch and leaving a slimy smear down the front of her black pencil skirt.
    “Jagger. Bowie!” A familiar deep voice called from the side of the house. He was home. A strange mix of relief and anticipation collided uncomfortably in her belly.
    Like a Road Runner cartoon, the dogs fought for traction on the deck before bolting. Wiping a moist palm over her hip, Lori followed.
    She found the dogs with one sitting at the bottom of the side steps, the other running off into the woods chasing something she couldn’t see.
    She also found Dash.
    Long legs in blue jeans, big feet in heavy work boots, a sweat-drenched white T-shirt clinging to the kind of meaty muscle she’d never seen outside of Pinterest. His hair was a shaggy mess, his stubble wild, and the tatty strings slid up and down his big wrist as muscles worked ten to the dozen.
    And—while she’d have bet money the most he exerted himself was to make a coffee—the man, the huntsman, was chopping wood.
    Lift, swing, chop, lift, swing, chop echoed through the forest. Watching him simply being capable was as diametrically opposed to the dozen assholes she’s left at her last meeting as it was possible to be; simpering cowards who probably paid people to do everything from washing their BMWs to shining their shoes.
    It was…appealing. Appealing ? Really ? It was beyond raunchy.
    Rolling her shoulders, Lori waited for the next upswing and cleared her throat.
    The axe hovered overhead, his T-shirt lifting, the tendons in his neck straining, Thor incarnate. He slowly lowered the weapon till the hilt rested on the stump on which he’d been splitting the wood.
    Lori held her breath as his deep brown gaze found hers. She only breathed again when that gaze dropped to where she’d raised her skirt. She tugged it back into place. Then tapped her watch.
    Dash took his time tucking the axe into a woodshed against the side of the house and then threw a tarp over the piles of wood. Picking up a blue checked shirt from atop a stump, he slipped his arms through the holes and ambled her way.
    She’d convinced herself that her memory of the man had been exaggerated, a response to the fact that she hadn’t been expecting…well, a man-mountain. But his moves were still so unhurried they made her toe tap against the wood as nervous energy filled her up.
    His damp white tee sculpted enough muscle to build a house, lift a car, and father a hundred babies. And his eyes, good God those eyes , looked over her like she was dressed in nothing but cling-wrap.
    She frowned down at her skirt, flicking frantic fingers at the smears of slobber. “Those dogs of yours are brats.”
    “Nah,” he drawled. “They’re adorable. Ask ’em.”
    “Jagger and Bowie, though, seriously?” she said, walking backward along the porch in the hopes he’d hurry up.
    “You’ve got something against my mates Mick and Dave?” he asked, his long slow strides still catching up quick enough.
    “You actually know them?” Okay, so she didn’t get time to listen to music