“Then that’s all the paperwork I need”—he pauses to click open his pen—“unless Iaskfor more.”
Sweet Jesus, deliver me from this old white man on a power trip.
“You don’t know the date of the event?”
“No, sir. As I explained in the application, I’m not sure whether we’ll be selected to host the showcase yet.”
His droopy eyes drift up to regard me. “You tryin’ to get a jump on the competition?”
I have a feeling the truth’s the wrong answer.
“No, sir! It’s just I have a deep respect for the hard work you do at Gilmer County L&I, and I look to your office not only for permission, butguidance, for how to run an event so large. I’m sure you could teach us a thing or two about how it’s done.” I poke him playfully in the arm, which was the wrong thing to do. His Eeyore eyes bulge from their sockets.
“Miss Brennan. If you do not know how to run an event this large, I will beforcedto deny—”
“Well, if it isn’t Grandpa Tommy!” Laine’s voice slides over my sweaty back like cool water, providing instantaneous relief.
Mr. Sumney’s mouth does the weirdest thing: itsmiles. “Coach Woods! It’s awful nice to see you.”
“You, too, Tommy. Did you see your grandbaby’s pass at last week’s game? That girl’s got a heck of a kicking foot.”
Mr. Sumney beams as though Laine pointed a spotlight directly on his balding, sunburnt head. “She gets it from my wife.” He smiles shyly.
“Oh, you’re here from L&I, aren’t you? I didn’t realize we lucked out and got the best inspector this side of the county!” Laine gently pats Mr. Sumney’s back as he chuckles, steering him toward the tasting room. “Now you listen here, sir, it’s too hot to do business without a cold glass of lemonade. Or can I get you something with a kick of its own?”
Mr. Sumney laughs. “Coach Woods, you are atroublemaker. I’ll have that lemonade with a side of gin since you suggested.”
I stand there, shocked, as Laine singlehandedly saves our permitting inspection with the power of athletic charisma.
“Miss Brennan, you better close that mouth of yours, or a fish’ll fly in,” Laine calls over her shoulder and winks, setting Tommy Sumney off into a gale of old-man chuckles.
What in theworld?
I’m rooting around in the back room for my bottle of Hendrick’s when the door swings open behind me, and a pair of hands slink down to my waist.
“You found Grandpa’s gin yet, boss?” Laine asks, and it shouldn’t sound sexy, but itdoes. She settles her hips directly behind mine and presses,firmly, against my ass. My eyelids flutter as I bite back a groan. She works one hand between us, dragging her thumb from my pussy up the seam of my pants until my back arches in response. I grab the dusty bottle of gin from the lower cabinet and spin around, hoisting myself up on the countertop and pulling her between my legs by the shirt.
“Is that any way to court a lady, Coach Woods?”
Laine grins. “Well, tonight’s our first date. What’s the harm in starting a little early?”
I run my hands over her strong shoulders, sliding them along the hard triceps bracing her against the counter. “Now I hope you won’t think this too forward, but instead of a corsage, I can think of something I’d like more.”
Laine leans back, exposing her throat. “Tell me.”
“A permit.” I smile, handing her the bottle of gin.
Laine grabs me by the strap of my tank top and pulls me toward her. Our faces are inches apart, my lips parted and breathless, when she leans into my ear, nose brushing its shell.
“Yes, boss.” The words are wickedly hot, undoing something in my belly that flows like melting wax through my core. She releases me, winks, and saunters out the door.
Mercy.
“Just what I always wanted!” I hold the store-bought bouquet to my chest, along with the stamped permit tucked within its blooms.
“See? Courting can be fun.” Laine twists me back and forth by the hips in front of her.
I’ve never felt so deliciously pursued by someone before. Ever since the wedding, Laine’s made it no secret that she’s dying to throw me into bed, which thrills me with every groping kiss stolen in the storage room, or pressed against the thrumming metal tanks in the winery, or that one time in the barn while she was feeding Baahlzebub. But it’s the little gestures—the notes tucked beneath my coffee mug, a new pack of my favorite pens on my desk, a midnight text sharing a video so funny that Ihadto text back, our conversation going so late I fell asleep with my phone nestled to my chest—that I have no experience with. Laine’s version of courting heats me from the inside out, exciting and touching and absolutelyterrifying. I’d feel safer if this was just sex, some tryst that’d fall apart before I could develop real feelings, but Laine, damn her to hell, knows that. She lured me out of hiding by my desire first, and once she got me good and exposed, she strapped a collar around my neck and set about domesticating me, one dish of cream at a time.
