“I know how to make up time.” He tilts his hat towards me, and my stomach swims with giddiness at how his eyes glimmer with mischief beneath the brim. “And then I know how to slow it down.”
“I suppose first you need to get me to say yes,” I respond, matching his playfulness.
He shakes his head, taking a step closer. “I know you’ll say yes to the first date. It’s the second one I need to make sure I earn.”
Without realizing it, he’s managed to get me to turn so my back is to the truck, and as he steps closer, I’m forced to back up until I hit it. I pull my hands out of my pockets, my breath coming quicker as he crowds me, his intoxicating scent invading my space.Spicy, crisp, and musky all rolled into one. It’s like eating an orange in the middle of a pine forest during winter.
“And the third,” I murmur, my voice betraying the way he’s making me feel right now. The swoop of my tummy, the rapid beat of my heart.
The way his bare chest from yesterday invades my mind, how he felt beneath my hands as they glided along muscles that were thick and full of power. The tattoo on his back that I studied for long minutes but couldn’t form words about because he had me feeling so nervous. A ranch gate, rolling hills, and a gorgeous mare.
“Unless disaster strikes, I think date three is a given if I make it to two,” he hums gravelly, his body so close to mine that his heat seeps into me. “And I won’t let disaster strike.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“I’m confident.”
“Or is it cocky?”
He shakes his head, arms caging me in around the truck. “Cocky implies I’m insecure, that I have something to prove. I don’t. I believe in myself and what I see in you. That’s called confidence.”
If I could melt into a puddle at this man’s feet, I probably would. He has an air about him that says he means what he says. What he’s seeing in me, I’m not sure.
The sound of metal on metal has me glancing down at the same time something clicks, and I realize he’s just unlocked my door.
Smooth as butter, this cowboy.
He steps back, gripping the door handle, grinning at me. When I step away with a shake of my head, he opens the door and helps me in, closing it behind me. Inside the truck, I’m enveloped in his scent, and I breathe deeply as he comes around to his side.
The truck tells me a lot about the man himself. It’s completely restored and impeccably clean. Hanging from the rearview mirror from a silver chain is a firefighter shield charm with an axe, the words “Diamond River Junior Firefighter” written across it.
A full bench seat made of black leather takes up the cab. It’s soft and comfortable, the type of seat you’d want to sit in for long drives on the highway. Maybe through the rolling hills of Napa with wineries upon wineries to look upon. Or the valleys of Montana with picturesque mountains jutting up on every side.
“Did you buy it like this or restore her?” I ask when he climbs into the truck.
“I did it,” he responds, running a hand over the dash behind the steering wheel. “Engine, interior, exterior. Betty went through it all.”
“Impressive. She’s beautiful, inside and out.”
“And she purrs like a damn kitten.”
A second later, he’s got her started, and he’s right. She sounds perfect, with a beautiful hum coming from the engine. God, if this is the care he puts into his vehicle, I have to wonder about the care he puts into other things. Like the women he dates. Then again, I’ve had a front row seat, I think, and so far I’m as impressed with that as I am with his truck.
“So, you know how to dance, ride, and how to restore a classic truck. What else do you know how to do?” I ask him, buckling my seatbelt as he does the same.
Wyatt looks over and grins. “Fight fire.” Then he winks at me.
Freaking winks.
He did it on the dance floor, but I was too taken with his dance skills to fully appreciate the way his face hardly crinkles as his right eye closes. And I can’t help but giggle at both his answer and the facial expression. He’s ridiculous, and I like it.
“Okay, I walked into that one. What else?”
“Sounds like an after date number two question.” He laughs when I swat him playfully on the arm. “I don’t know. Lots. I really, really like working with my hands.”
I don’t miss the teasing note that indicates the double entendre.
Directing him out of the parking lot, I demand to know more, and he finally relents that he likes fixing things. All kinds of things. He had to become good at it working on the ranch, and just as I’m about to ask him more about that, I realize the truck is slowing down.
