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“Fine,” she huffs out. “I’m not far from the Trading Post, on Jasper.”
Nice neighborhood. I study her profile, her clothes, the way she carries herself. She doesn’t appear snobbish or spoiled. No, Skylar looks like a hardworking woman. A woman who doesn’t take handouts without paying it forward. The skintight dress hugs her curves as if made for her, but I have a sneaking suspicion it doesn’t normally hang in her closet.
Skylar may have nice things and live in a mid-class neighborhood, but I bet she busted her ass for all of it.
I steer the car out of the lot and drive away from the center of town.
Stone Bay, Washington, isn’t big by any means, but sizable enough to have a spot on the map and attract tourists. Visitors boost the town’s revenue, but we don’t depend on them. Generations of old money reside in the roots of Stone Bay. Some flaunt their inheritance, like town royalty. But plenty live an average existence, spending only what is necessary to live.
“So, Skylar…” I glance to the passenger seat as she shivers. “Are you cold?” She shakes her head, but I adjust the air anyway. “Tell me about you.”
She shifts in her seat, knees bumping the center console. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. “Whatever you want to share.” I shrug, my eyes back on the road.
From the corner of my eye, I notice her fingers fidget in her lap. Her right thumb and forefinger twisting a ring on her left thumb. Do I make her uncomfortable? Odd, considering she willingly left the pub with me and got in my car. Hell, she flirted and suggested going to my place.
“Um…” She breaks her hands apart and pins them between her thighs and the seat. “Not much to tell.” She laughs without humor. “My life’s pretty boring. Tonight”—she points over her shoulder—“at the pub, that’s about as wild as my nights get.”
We must have varying definitions of wild. In my early twenties, I spent most nights at the pub or parties. Drank enough to wake up with a grueling headache and no memory of what or who I did the night before. Didn’t take long before those nights ended. Fun as they were, graduating with a finance degree superseded the need to party.
“How often are these wild nights?”
Am I an asshole for asking how often she drinks and leaves with other men? Or am I an asshole for assuming every time she goes out to drink, she leaves with men? Either way, I am an asshole.
“Do I sense a hint of jealousy?”
There is the flirty woman I eyed from the end of the bar. Skylar may be somewhat reserved, but I sense the silent vixen living inside her. No way a woman with phoenix-red curls can be wholly docile. No, she has fire in her veins.
“Maybe.”
She hums. “Not often. Once every couple of months. I’d rather watch documentaries in the dark with junk food.” Laughter bubbles in my chest and escapes my lips. Skylar smacks my bicep. “Didn’t anyone teach you it’s not nice to laugh at the expense of others?”
This makes me laugh harder. “Sorry.” I stifle my laughter. “Just hard to picture you eating candy and watching nature shows.”
“Who says I watch nature?” she challenges. I turn onto Jasper and she points to the left. “Gray house with the silver SUV.”
I pull in behind the SUV and throw the car in park. “No whales and rain forests?”
She shakes her head and laughs. “No. More like Bundy and Manson and Dahmer.”
My brows shoot to my hairline. “Well… I’d thought about joining you inside. Not sure that’s a good idea now.”
Skylar unbuckles her belt and twists to face me fully, her lips turned up in amusement. “You’re not scared of little old me, are you?” Her tone is teasing. One brow cocked as she licks her lips.
No, little phoenix. It’ll take a hell of a lot more to scare me.
I reach across the console and twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. Toy with the curls. Her breath catches. Body leans forward. Tongue darts out to lick her lips. I’ve not touched her, yet her body begs for more. For my hands on her skin, in her hair, kneading and tugging and teasing. For my mouth on her lips, her neck, and the curves of her body.
And I love how amped up I have her. How easily I could bend her to my will. If I wanted. Lucky for her—or maybe not so lucky—I am not one to take advantage. No, I like to take my time. Treasure my gifts. Peel away the gift wrap and enjoy the anticipation.
The corner of my mouth kicks up. “No, I’m not scared of you.” Her shoulders drop as she harrumphs. “But I’m utterly fascinated,” I admit.
She toys with the thin silver band on her thumb again. “Would you like to come in?” She tips her head toward the house.
Now I get her nerves. Not sure what Skylar expects if I follow her inside. Maybe she has no expectations. Maybe she is simply being cordial because I drove her home. Or maybe her invitation has a well-defined answer. No matter, I will at least walk her to the door. Make sure she doesn’t injure herself further.
But that is it.
