Page 41 of Her Wild Coast Promise

“Careful, she was likely packing.” I hang up my coat and keys.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” She turns away from the sink, the dishtowel in her hands. After our meeting at the station, I couldn’t get her out of my head. The way she leaned in to challenge me about liking it easy was a battle cry ringing over and over in my mind.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asks, hanging up the towel. It’s a simple motion, but one I can’t turn away from. Maybe it’s the scent of her cooking, the warmth of the house, or the sight of her in tight jeans and an oversized flannel tied at her waist, like a gift I can’t wait to unwrap. Probably all three.

“Busy,” I reply, toeing off my muddy shoes. “It’s nice in here.”

She smiles. Today at the station, she was downright irresistible in her tailored pants and dress shirt, the top unbuttoned to reveal the delicate place between her collarbones. I don’t know why that particular place had me so captivated. Is it because I long to kiss her there? Or because I imagined undressing her slowly while she moaned her approval, our breaths quickening?

“Meatloaf,” she says. “My mom’s recipe. Are you hungry?”

I inhale through my nose and tighten my fists until the pain grounds me. Hungry doesn’t quite cover it. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

She gives me a look. “We both need to eat, right? If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you have the honors tomorrow.”

“Let me, huh?” I walk over in my sock feet.

She watches me with that hint of playfulness in her gaze that makes me curious and hot all at once. “We could take turns.”

Sweet sunshine, yes. You first.On the counter with your thighs parted for me and your fingers locked in my hair.Then on your knees taking my cock inside that pretty mouth.

“I like that idea.” I snatch a slice of carrot from the salad. In that split second, I get a hit of her subtle scent. It’s like a perfectly ripe grapefruit, the juice so fresh and tart. My cock gives a needy pulse in my work pants.

“Are you ready?”

So fucking ready.

With a blink, I zoom back in. What the hell is wrong with me? “I’ll just go change first,” I say, my words tight in my throat.

She nods, but the playful hint in her gaze has turned heated. “I’ll, um, toss the salad.” She spins away, giving me the separation I need to reclaim my purpose and get the hell out of the kitchen.

Each step makes it more evident that I’m in deep shit trouble because the separation is doing nothing to settle my craving to kiss her and undress her, explore every curve and tempting inch with my tongue.

Once inside my room, I scrub my face and resolve to get a grip. Cora is my best friend’s little sister, not a gift from heaven sent to deep throat my cock.

As I strip out of my uniform, the room’s cool air is making my bare skin prickle. My growing erection turns painful when I tuck into my jeans. Each button of the fly is like torture. What am I, fourteen again? If I had two spare minutes, I would rub one out. Quiet the dirty thoughts racing through me like an overloaded circuit.

That might make it worse—I would just be imagining her participation.

Shit.

I yank a blue wool shirt off its hangar and slide it on, tucking in the tails and whipping my belt through the loops. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure I don’t look as half-crazed as I feel, I pad back down the hallway.

When I round the corner, Cora has set everything on the table.

“This is amazing.” I’ve never had a woman here. Back when my parents and I cohabited, it would have been awkward, and since I moved them to Juneau, I haven’t had an occasion. Peyton and I always met on neutral ground. We both wanted it that way.

“Can you grab drinks?” she asks over her shoulder, reaching into the cupboard. The motion tugs her shirt above her waist, revealing a patch of bare skin.

What would it be like to touch her there?

I break from this agonizing thought and grab two water glasses. We dance around each other, our hands full, until the tasks are complete and finally we’re seated.

At least now I’m fixed in place and my hands have something to do. “Thank you for making dinner for us.”

Her eyes brighten and she smiles. “You’re welcome.”

I cut a bite of my meatloaf and dig in. The flavors explode on my tongue. I slow down so I can savor it. “Wow,” I manage.

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