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“I just meant, you seem kinda prickly,” he says again.
“That’s bold.”
“It’s a plain and simple observation.”
crackles—I’m sure of it. His eyes flick over me for the dozenth time. He’s not being subtle about it, either.
“What are your other observations?” I snap the kettle off with a sassy flick of my finger. “Since you’re so good at it.”
“I observe you’re pretty nice to look at,” he says smoothly.
My jaw drops. I didn’t think he’d go there, at least not so quickly. It takes me a whole thirty seconds, and then some, to gather myself. My face is hot as pavement in the summertime, burning me up. I pour my tea, and the scent of pomegranate fills the air.
I look up. He’s leaning in, looking back at me.
Goddamn it. He knows what he’s doing.
“What? I’m not allowed to say that?” he asks, voice deep.
Right away, I noticed his voice. From the minute he stepped into the house, it echoed all the way to my room. Deep, really deep, and gravelly in his throat.
“You can say whatever you want,” I say.
He studies me a little longer. “You’re being kinda loud, with your dad sleeping upstairs and all.”
“Stop trying to get a rise out of me.”
“I’m not, just talking.”
“Well, you can stop talking too.”
He laughs quietly, straightening. God, he’s so tall, I have to crane my neck back to look him in the eyes. The situation is rapidly escalating. First, I’m not sure why he’s flirting with me, eye-fucking me without shame. Second, it’s only turning me on more the longer he goes at it. Usually, men who come out the gate strong bother me. Not this one, clearly.
“Alright,” he says, dipping his head. “I’ll take a whiskey, if you have it.”
“Huh?”
“You got your tea. I’ll take a whiskey.”
I study him, struggling to keep up. He’s a broad man, but not bulky. He has a Hollywood-kind-of-handsome face that might seem bland if it weren’t for that critical furrowing of his brows. Below them sit unreadable gray-blue eyes, with faint lines beside them. If my calculations are correct, he’s about the same age as my sister’s new man. Which is…thirty-five or thirty-six?
That’s a lot older than me.
It only fans the flames.
I’ve never been one to tell myself no, even when it caused problems. Every wrangler that caught my eye was someone my dad would have hated. God, he would hate it if I went after Jamie, especially after how well they get along. It makes me want to sink my teeth in just to prove I don’t have to listen.
That’s one of my worst qualities.
“I was gonna heading upstairs,” I say finally.
The corner of his mouth turns up. He’s smug.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” I snark back. “Who drinks whiskey at this time of night?”
“Maybe somebody who can’t sleep.”
