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We take off our boots. I do it more slowly than I normally do. I know I could use more sleep. I know Molly needs sleep. But it’s the last thing I want to do. Molly slides across the floor in her socks, and I notice one has a stain on the toe area which can only mean her boots have a hole in them.
She walks backward toward the kitchen. “Don’t suppose you’re hungry?”
I’m not. But almost without giving my mouth permission it answers. “Sure.”
ChapterEight
MOLLY
I’m not hungry.I’m shattered actually, having been up more or less since Dash’s alarm went off almost twenty-four hours ago, but the combination of feeling nervous about Romeo and dealing with a stomach full of butterflies from talking to my hot, elusive boss has me knowing I won’t sleep when my head hits the pillow anyway.
And I’m curious. Maybe it’s natural for any human to explore the great unknown, but something about this quiet cowboy enraptures me. But now that we’re back in the apartment, away from the heightened emotion downstairs and the safety of the darkness, maybe he’ll only remind me of the rules.
I pop two pieces of bread in the toaster and press the button down. When I spin around again, he’s leaning against the wall. So damn sexy.
“Sooo…boss,” I say for my benefit more than for his, “I know you said no questions, but… how about you give me three?”
He flares his nostrils, and his eyebrows twitch like he might smile. His expression is lighter, amused. “Three questions?”
I shrug. “Yeah. You can ask me three things. I’ll ask you three things. You know. Kind of like a conversation,” I tease.
“Are you messing with me?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Do you want me to?” As soon as I ask, I turn away, head down, and stare at the toaster so he can’t see the pink creeping into my face. I brace myself on the counter, willing the toast to pop up, because that kind of question is laced with way too much innuendo for a professional relationship, and I need a reason to not look at him until my face cools.
His hand appears on the counter next to me where he leans on it casually. “Go on. Shoot.”
Shit. It’s not like I prepared anything. What do I want to know about this man besides everything? I think back to him humming in the stable. “How long have you been singing? And do you play any other instruments?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Fine. Singing. Go.”
He points at me casually. “I’ll give you a freebie. I play guitar. And I started singing in church when I was maybe six or seven. Some other people in my family sang, too and we’d jam together sometimes.”
Damn it. Now I have questions about his answer. Who did he sing with? Why is it past tense? What does he like to sing? Will he serenade me, preferably naked sometime?
“So that’s why you’re so good at singing. Been doing it a long time.” I nod.
The way he leans on his hand next to me, so… like a protective wall of muscle. How can leaning be so sexy?
“How do you know I’m good?” he asks.
“The timbre of your voice. The vibrato and richness when you hum. It’s obvious you can sing and have good tone. Feel free to jam here anytime. I love live music.”
The toast pops up. I bend down and take two plates from a cupboard then reach up for the peanut butter, but I can barely get to it, and my fingers push the jar back instead. Dash steps closer, into my space. His hips make contact with the small of my back, his hard torso grazes my shoulder blades, and when he stretches up and over me, his body connects with such a small touch but makes such a dynamite impact.
His tattooed hand and forearm appear before me when he sets the peanut butter on the counter. I’m practically shaking with butterflies from being so close to him that I don’t know if I’ll keep the knife steady.
“Thanks,” I manage.
He crosses his arms, and his hands behind his biceps make them bulge and stretch the fabric of his shirt like it’s two sizes too small. “My turn?”
I focus on the spread, willing myself to not let my mind wander to his naked ass from earlier. “Huh?”
“My turn for a question.”
“Oh, yeah.”
