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He watched her as cheese samples were passed around but he couldn’t detect by looking if she’d had the same sort of semierotic dream about him as he’d had about her, or if she was thinking of him in any way other than as her pal Flynn.
He’d never looked at her any differently until that dream. Sabrina Douglas was his best girl friend. Girl space friend. Not a woman he’d pursue sexually.
She hummed her pleasure and wiggled her hips while she ate a graham cracker topped with goat cheese, and Flynn felt a definite stir in his gut. For the first time in his life, sex wasn’t off the table for him and Sabrina.
Which meant he needed his head examined.
Pairing with the confusing thoughts was a palpable relief that down south he was operating as usual. He’d worried after the one-two punch of losing his wife to his brother and his father to cancer he’d never be back to normal.
Now that he reconsidered, who cared that a mental wire had crossed and put Sab’s face in his fantasies? He’d had weird dreams before and they hadn’t changed the course of his life.
After the tasting, Sabrina chattered about her favorite cheeses and how she couldn’t believe they didn’t serve wine at the tour.
“What kind of establishment doesn’t offer you wine with cheese?” she exclaimed as they strolled down the boardwalk. She was a few feet ahead of him yelling at the wind, her jeans and Converse sneakers paired with an army-green jacket that stopped at her waist. Which gave him a great view of her ass—another part of her he’d noticed before but not like he was noticing now.
Not helping matters was the fact that he didn’t have to wonder what kind of underwear she wore beneath that tight denim. He knew.
No amount of trying to forget would erase the image of her wearing a black thong that perfectly split those cheeks into two bitable orbs.
“What do you think?” She spun and faced him, the wind kicking her hair forward, a few strands sticking to her lip gloss. He was walking forward when she stopped so he reached her in two steps. Before he thought it through, he swept those strands away from her sticky lip stuff, ran his fingers along her cheek and tipped her chin, his head a riot of bad ideas.
With a deep swallow, he called up ironclad Parker willpower and stopped touching his best friend. “I think you’re right.”
His voice was as rough as gravel.
“You’re distracted. Are you thinking about work?”
“Yes,” he lied through his teeth.
“You’re going to have to let it go at some point. Give in to the urge.” She drew out the word urge, perfectly pursing her lips and leaning forward with a playful twinkle in her eyes that would tempt any mortal man to sin.
And since Flynn was nothing less than mortal, he palmed the back of her head and pressed his mouth to hers.
