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Penelope leaves us with a melodic, “Call me if you need anything.”
Before she exits the barn, I holler, “Better turn your ringer up.”
Ha!I pivot, waiting for a retort, but my grin fades when I find Heather too busy rereading her list to mind me.
She rolls the corner of her lip between her teeth, crinkling the paper in a death grip. So, as any mature adult man would, I snatch the list from her grasp.
“Hey, give that back!” She rises on her toes, jumping for the paper which, in turn, brings those generous breasts of hers temptingly close to my mouth.
Blocking her swatting hands with my forearm, I recite each chore, “Feed the chickens, muck the stalls, tend the garden.” I pause when she lands with a huff. “Got any girl scout patches for these?”
The blush coloring Heather’s cheeks gradually climbs to her ears, giving her a rare, but adorable, innocence.
Interestingly enough, I think I may enjoy making her blood heat.
“Laying feed for chickens? Pshh. Easy. Besides, I took a botany class in college for extra credit. How hard can watering some plants be?” She grabs the handle of an old muck rake. “And I’m not afraid of getting dirty.”
My lips curl indecently. “Nowthat, I believe.”
I stare at her mouth, popped open in shock. Her bottom lip is fuller than the top, but both are a sensual shade of pink.
She hasn’t the slightest idea how much money women pay for lips like those in Hollywood.
“Do you get off on being so vulgar?” Heather asks.
“Hmm.” Feigning consideration, I scratch the stubble along my jaw. “Actually, a bit of bondage and rough sex tends to do it.”
Unsurprising, she answers with a haughty, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Beams of golden sunlight spill through the holes in the roof and walls of the barn, catching flecks of dust that dance across her skin.
I stare long enough for Heather to duck her face away from mine, but not before I catch a betraying hint of interest.
I almost can’t believe it. Beneath all that venom and frostbite, some fraction of her—minute as it may be—finds me attractive. And the discovery has my blood thumping with awareness.
“I saw you walking Sparrow up to the stables the other night,” I say to avoid the intrusive, yet vivid, image of me sucking her lower lip roughly between my teeth. “Maybe you should just admit you have no idea what you’re doing and head back to the guest house.”
The tip of that proud chin juts up like a defiant toddler. “Never.”
My god, she is such a priss.
If she thinks a couple of innuendos or crude remarks are offensive, then she better hope pushing me to the point of wrapping my hand around her jaw and kissing her fucking senseless stays locked up inside my brain and far from reality.
Eager for space, I step around her. The brace in my boot makes my gate uneven, but the second the sun hits my face, I inhale as much fresh air as my body can physically stand and push forward.
Outside, with the scent of horses on the wind, and the earth crunching beneath my feet, I can think clearly enough to see how unimpressed I am by Heather’s hourglass shape.
Or the wispy way her hair frames her heart-shaped face when she leaves it down.
And that full ass of hers is, well, it’s too goddamn full.
Gravel grinds loudly as Heather jogs to catch up.
“Why are you following me?”
“Why are you suddenly so cranky?” she fires back.
Probably because I can’t stop picturing you naked and, ideally, gagged.
