AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Unlike her ignore-me flannel shirt, her hair demands a second look or three. I still can’t decide what the color was. Her chunky strands are a L’Oreal rainbow, browns and blonds mixed up with the occasional streak of red. I’ve spotted pink, blue, and purple, too. Like her choice of hair color, every emotion she feels is painted on her face. Watching her talk up the other cooks is like staring at a merry-go-round. She’s fucking full of life and color, and damned if she doesn’t make me dizzy. The ride would be worth it, though.
Yes, I’ve imagined riding her. More than once.
I’m a fucking HR lawsuit waiting to happen, but the truth is what it is and that T-shirt of hers isn’t helping any. She looks away, bending over to grab something, and the cotton stretches tight over her breasts, gifting me with another flash of pink and lace. Black lace. Christ. Wonder if the boys would be up for a panty raid tonight?
She looks back, and this time her gaze hones in on me like a bird dog sighting quail and her blue-gray eyes light up. Of course, knowing what color her eyes are is just one more sign I’m in trouble.
“Pick Revere,” she announces loudly, nodding her head like she’s continuing a conversation with herself. Not like I can disagree with my name, so I just let her continue while I grab a plastic tray from the closest stack. “You’re first in line. That’s just perfect.”
Whatever.
In addition to being almost a co-worker, she’s too young for me. The first day I laid eyes on her, slinging eggs and hash browns, I’d started running numbers in my head, guessing at her age. I’d pegged her for maybe twenty-four, and I’d last seen that side of thirty more than two years ago. She’s part-Goth, part sass—but I’m betting that, beneath the oversized clothes and the skittish demeanor, she’s one hundred percent sweet, hot female. She damned certain deserves better than me, and no way she belongs out here in the woods.
I don’t even care how she got hired on despite not being able to cook. Frankly, there aren’t too many people interested in camping for the summer, slinging eggs and burgers twelve hours a day for minimum wage. She looks more Corvette or racing car than RV, but she gives her job her all and I respect that.
“Morning.” Nodding my head toward her, I heft my tray and eye the dishes on offer. Yep. Pancakes. Bacon. And… beans. I’ll pass on those, but otherwise I’ll take everything else she has to offer.
“That’s settled,” she announces. I think about that for a moment, but I’ve got nothing. It’s like I’ve just barged in on a half-done conversation.
She steps around the food-laden table and stalks toward me, a determined look in her eye. I’ve seen fire start up a hill that way, unstoppable and devouring everything in its path. That look spells trouble. I back my ass up, doing a little fancy footwork. What. The . . .
Heaven.
Sarah Jo throws her arms around my neck, stretching up on tiptoe. Her enthusiastic embrace slams the empty tray between us, a plastic chastity belt squashing the fuck out of my balls. I’ll catch hell from the boys for that later, but right now all I feel is cheated with that hard plastic pressed against me instead of Sarah Jo. Those millimeters separating me from her are a fucking shame. She smells good, too. Pancakes and syrup, with a hint of something floral and feminine. She definitely smells better than I do.
She’s impatient too, pulling my head down toward her. There’s nothing tentative or shy about her, just all that happy laughter filling her eyes and her voice. “It’s going to be a real good morning, hotshot.”
I open my mouth. Damned if I know what I intend to say, but she takes full advantage. Hello.
Her mouth covers mine and she plants a hot kiss on me. Her tongue tastes my bottom lip, sweeps inside, and proceeds to pillage my mouth ruthlessly. When she comes out of hiding, she does it with a vengeance.
The groan escapes before I can bite back the rough, hungry sound. I haven’t kissed a woman in a long time. Too many fires, not enough time. My dick likes to argue about my priorities, but I think protecting people’s homes from burning up beats anything. Sarah Jo has no idea just how hungry I am, or that my inner pirate demands we make a sensual feast out of her body. If she did, she’d run like hell.
