Page 19 of Just This Once

His eyes found the point in my neck where I was certain my heartbeat hammered through the thin skin. “You should have said something.”

“Like what, Whip? What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, by the way, say hello to my dad at work tomorrow?’ Be real. I panicked and ran out.” My hands lifted in emphasis. “As one might do in that situation.”

His arms crossed and his gaze roamed over me. “Smelly Melly.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oh my god, please forget I ever told you that.” I exhaled and tipped my face to the ceiling.

“I think Prim suits you far better.” His voice was velvet over gravel, encircling me in the protective darkness.

My body hummed for him. Like flames sparking and dancing around the other before merging into a blaze that destroyed everything around it, I was drawn to him.

Shadows darkened the intensity in his eyes, and I couldn’t look away. His gaze held me captive against my own warring emotions.

He stepped forward, crowding my space and gripping my hips through my navy satin dress. “It can’t happen again.” His warm breath floated over my tingling skin.

“I know.” The pull between us inched me closer, but I waved my hand between us. “You need to keep you and thatthingaway from me.”

“Thing?” He laughed quietly, not disturbing our echo chamber of restraint and tension. “Why do you keep gesturing at my dick, Prim?”

I scoffed. “Oh my god, I am notgesturing at your dick.” I looked around to be sure no one could overhear us.

One corner of his mouth crooked up as his gaze floated over my mouth. “I mean... you kind of were.”

I let loose an exasperated breath. “I swear, you are just like the men my dad always warned me about.”

Whip shook his head. With his height, he towered over me, filling my vision with onlyhim. “And you are exactly the type of distracting woman your father warnedmeabout.”

I straightened. “This”—I gestured between us—“is not a thing.” My mind wanted to retreat, but my body locked in place as Whip erased the inches between us.

A grunt vibrated in his throat. “Not at all. I am not friends with you, Prim.”

My chest was heavy. “I don’t even like you. You’re kind of a prick.” The grumble of his soft laughter sent heat pooling between my legs.

“Good.”

Another inch and his mouth could devour mine. I gripped his corded forearm—the hard muscles tightening and bunching beneath his suit jacket.

“Emily? Are you out here?” My mother’s voice startled me, and I leaned past Whip’s broad shoulder.

I went to push past him when his hand caught my upper arm. In the darkness his blue eyes formed intense, black pools. I raised my chin and willed my knees not to wobble. “This conversation is over.”

A soft rumble filled the space between us as his breath caressed the shell of my ear. “I bet if I lifted the hem of your skirt right now, I’d find your panties soaked, just for me.”

I tugged my arm free, annoyed that he was 1,000 percent correct. “You’d be wrong.” I swallowed past the lump that clogged my throat and leaned in close. An evil smirk crept across my face as my lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Because I’m not wearing any.”

I didn’t risk a backward glance and prayed that Whip—and the secret we shared—stayed hidden in the shadows.

NINE

WHIP

The buzzof the table saw filled the air as sawdust floated out the door to my workshop. New wood was arranged in neat piles, but my favorite pieces—reclaimed barnwood, old beams, a centuries-old table with a missing leg—waited patiently while I decided how to use the materials. The early-morning May air still held a chill, but stacking boards and ripping planks for my next project had worked up a sweat.

I had learned early in my career as a firefighter that while the flexibility of my shifts was nice, it also meant increased downtime—downtime that made me feel itchy and stagnant.

Fishing was too boring, paddleboarding left winters unproductive, and a second job somewhere else lacked the freedom and flexibility I craved. I didn’t have artistic talent like my brother, Royal, nor did I have the passion for operating my own business like Abel. I had fallen into furniture making by accident after my house had been built. Once I moved in, I realized the Swedish particleboard end tables and milk crate stools wouldn’t do the house justice.

So I read books, followed Instagrammers, and YouTubed every episode ofThis Old Houseto teach myself a new skill.It required patience and fine-tuning, and the attention to detail necessary ensured that my thoughts wouldn’t wander.

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