Page 8 of Lucky Haven

I decide that the safest thing to do is to flee back into the library.

Cash’s low chuckle follows me.

Chapter Three

Cash

Riley is grinning when I get back to the garage, which sends my stomach into free fall.

“Get back to work,” I growl at her, even though she’s clearly in the middle of something, and I’ve never minded teasing before. “You didn’t see anything.”

“Yes, boss.”

And when I send her home early, so I can lock up the garage before the library closes, she keeps a neutral expression and gets the heck out of Dodge without saying another word.

Upstairs, I crank on the shower, my thoughts careening from wanting to get clean for Haven, to wondering what the fuck happened, to darkly thinking I should just call the library and tell her I’m busy with work tonight.

But I can’t do that.

I gave her my word, not that she asked for it. I don’t think she knew what she was getting herself into when she threw herself into my arms.

That didn’t stop her from kissing the ever-loving-fuck out of me, though.

Jesus, her mouth.

My cock thickens in my hand as I relive the soft press of her lips against mine. The boldness, the urgency.

I’ve wondered how she felt about returning to Dragonfly Creek. Noticed that she wasn’t going to church on Sundays, and wasn’t seen with that circle of people.

But I never in a million years would have thought she’d take one look at Jeb Martin and glue her mouth to mine.

I don’t hate it, as far as a fuck off strategy goes. I’ll shield her from him without question. From everyone in her uncle’s circle, if need be. But she’s never given me any indication that she would want that, so I need to let go of my dick and stop thinking about her mouth.

Or how easily she parted her lips for me and let me have a little taste of her tongue.

Instead of releasing my cock, I stroke it again, making sure it’s extra clean. I have no good reason to do that. My hands need to be clean, absolutely. Arms and pits, yes, sure. She might need a hug.

But pulling my foreskin back and doing a double stroke of soap…there’s no chance that’s necessary for Haven’s purposes.

My cock grows heavier, not respecting the plan at all, so I give in and stroke myself roughly. The new knowledge of how hot and eager her kiss is just adds to my usual Haven fantasy, and I spill seed embarrassingly quickly.

Or, given the agenda today, appropriately efficiently.

I get to the library five minutes before closing.

As I stride in, a woman who I know attends Fred Bingham’s church, New Harvest, is frostily scanning a book at the self-checkout kiosk. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into her lack of eye contact with Haven behind the desk, but I’m probably not. I’m probably reading that situation exactly as fucking awkward as it is.

“Come on, Kaitlyn,” she says as she turns away from the counter.

A lanky teenage girl in a long dress unfurls herself from one of the chairs by the exit and follows her mother out the door, gliding like an apparition.

I wait until they’re gone before I approach.

Haven gives me a rueful smile. “Still getting the silent treatment from some people.”

“Their loss.” Then I wait, because I’m not about to say ready to go out loud.

I’m not the type of man who will ever have the right to walk Haven Bingham home. I’m going to anyway, but it’s going to make that silent treatment she’s receiving even worse.