She eyes me wryly, but it doesn’t hide the pretty blush that stains her cheeks. Although I have no desire to pursue any kind of relationship with her, I don’t want to leave her in any doubt that I want her.
Badly.
“Come on. Chop, chop!” I prompt.
Laney lays her glasses aside and gets up. When she’s even with me in the doorway, I lean down and whisper, “If you need help with those buttons, holler.”
I wink when she looks up at me.
“I think I can manage,” comes her sassy reply, but I can tell by the way her eyes dart away that I’m making her nervous. And, for my purposes, that’s a very good thing.
“Suit yourself. Just hurry. We need to be back by dark.”
With that, she moves off a little more quickly.
Less than five minutes later, I’m standing at the bottom of the steps when she hits the top one. She’s twisting her hair up and securing it with a clip. The action makes the thin material of her yellow tank top stretch across her chest. I can see the outline of her ni**les perfectly. My mouth waters with thoughts of having one of them against my tongue again.
I look away from her chest to take in legs that look a mile long in her khaki shorts, feet covered in cute little hiking boots. I’d much rather throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bed, but that’s not an option.
Yet.
“You brought a little bit of everything when you left your dad’s, huh?”
Laney stops mid-descent and looks down at herself. “What do you mean?”
“Hiking boots?”
“I always bring them when I come home. I hadn’t unpacked yet, so I just grabbed my bags and took off. Pretty much everything I own is on your bedroom floor.”
“That’s exactly where I picture your clothes every time I look at you.”
“You could do this all day long, couldn’t you?”
“Do what?” I ask, assuming my most innocuous expression.
“Tease me.”
I wait to answer until she’s on the next to last step, nearly tall enough to look me in the eye. “Baby, I haven’t even begun to tease you.”
“Well, maybe it’s best if you don’t.”
As I suspected, she’s still stinging from last night.
“No, I can guarantee you that it’s best for both of us if I do.”
“How would you know what’s best for me?”
It’s not a sarcastic question, but more a genuine one. I wonder if she asks herself that same thing often.
I step up on the last step, my chest close enough to brush hers. “You need to let your hair down a little. And I can help you with that. Neither of us wants anything serious. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. And I’m perfect for you.”
“You’re perfect for me right now maybe, but normally . . .”
“I know, I know. Normally you’re a good girl. And I’m the kind that corrupts them. Normally, you’d stay far away from me. And I’d probably stay away from you. But this isn’t normal. I’m willing to go with it. And I think you are, too, if you’ll get the hell out of your own head.” I reach out to take a thin wisp of hair that’s lying by her ear. I wind it around my finger. “Leave ‘normally’ behind, Laney. Leave all this shit with your dad and your friend and your shithole-of-an-ex behind. Give me a try. I promise I’ll make you glad you did.”
I see her swallow. Hard. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not this girl?”
I stroke her trembling bottom lip with my thumb. “We already talked about this. Trust me. You’re this girl.”
To show her what I mean, to show her how good we are together and how much her body knows that her mind denies, I bend my head and press my lips to hers. I take it slow and easy at first, brushing her mouth with mine, tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of my tongue. When she parts them for me—not because I ask her to or because I’m pushing her, but only because she wants to taste me as much as I want to taste her—I slide my tongue between them and lick it like I licked her last night. Like I’m tasting the world’s finest ice cream. Like I’m savoring every last bit of it. Of her. And I am. Something about her is sweet. The sweetest I’ve ever tasted. And it’s got me hard and ready for her, even now.
As much as I want to take her back upstairs, I pull away instead. That’ll come soon enough . . .
And then so will she.
“Believe me now?”
She looks down at my chin and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s a shy gesture, but she nods in agreement.
“Good. Let’s go.” I take her hand in mine and lead her from the house and across the yard toward the orchard gate. “You wanted to see the property, right? Well, there’s a lot to see, but today I think a good place to start would be the east grove. It butts up against the river, which will be a cool and refreshing place to visit on a day like today.”
She stops dead. “I’m not wearing a suit. And I’m not going skinny dipping.”
“Damn, you really are going to be difficult. But who said anything about skinny-dipping?”
I tug her hand, and she reluctantly resumes her walk at my side. I tell her what I know about the orchard—number of acres, average yield each year, labor and upkeep, the average season length. She takes it all in.
She listens and looks around as we walk, never saying a word or asking a question. Then we fall silent. It’s when she speaks after a few minutes that I realize why she’s been so quiet. She hasn’t been thinking about the orchard or work at all.
“What did you mean when you told my father that you were unlovable?”
I sigh.
Aw hell! Don’t start this, Laney, I think in exasperation.
“Nothing. I was just making a point.”
She looks up from the piece of grass she’d been twirling in the fingers of her other hand and watching intently. Now she’s watching me intently.
“No, you weren’t only making a point. That was sincere. And I want to know why you think that.”
I think long and hard before I respond. “I don’t do this, Laney.”
“Do what?” she asks, puzzled.
“Do the whole spill-your-guts thing. We aren’t dating. I don’t date really. What I’m offering you is pretty much all I’m capable of.”
“But why? That has to be a choice. You’re smart and charming, you’re driven and competent. You’re funny on occasion.”