Zeb Evans doesn’t do messy.
The product of a disorganised and chaotic childhood, Zeb likes order and control, and as the boss of his own employment agency he can give that to himself. Life runs along strict lines and he never mixes business with pleasure. Everything in his life lives in neat, alphabetized boxes. Until Jesse.
Jesse Reed is Zeb’s complete opposite. He’s chaos personified. A whirling cyclone of disorder. He’s also charming and funny and a very unwanted distraction. Which is why it comes as a complete surprise to Zeb to find himself asking Jesse to pose as his boyfriend for a few days in the country at a wedding.
Zeb doesn’t do impulsive, but as the time away progresses, he finds himself increasingly drawn to the merry and irreverent Jesse. But can he bring himself to break the hard-won lessons he’s learnt in life? And even if he can, how could Jesse be attracted to him anyway? He’s so much older than Jesse, not to mention being his boss.
From the bestselling author of the Mixed Messages and Finding Home series comes a warm and funny romance about one man’s fight for control and another man’s determination to circumvent it.
This is the first book in the Close Proximity series, but it can be read as a standalone.
I open my mouth but Zeb grabs my knee under the table and squeezes. Hard.
“Ouch,” I mutter.
“Behave,” he says tightly.
“I can’t promise anything if you happen to move that hand a couple of inches up.”
“A couple of inches? You’ve got a comfortable self-image.”
I shrug. “I work with what I’ve got.”
A waiter inserts himself between us to position tiny plates with a piece of meat on it and an inch of sauce curled round it. Zeb’s hand falls away. I look down at the plate gloomily. “Is this it?” I say sadly and the waiter snorts before resuming his stately procession down the table.
Zeb looks at me and his mouth quirks. “I’d say that was a mouthful,” he mutters. “For someone who hasn’t got a mouth the size of yours.”
“Zeb, I am a growing boy. I’m hoping they serve more food than this over the week or you’ll have to take me to hospital for a drip.”
“You’re exceedingly dramatic,” he intones. “I’m guessing it’s because you’re the youngest of eight children. You must have had to work very hard for your voice to be heard.”
“Not really,” I mutter, downing my starter in one sad bite. “It was never a problem.”
I nudge him. “I like a man who’s lingual.”
He stares at me. “I have never met anyone who manages to turn such an innocent sentence so dirty.”