Page 24 of Boss Me Not

I whipped my gaze to him. A light stubble coated his jaw, eliciting thoughts of his face rubbing along my skin, leaving rough sensations behind. I attempted to squeeze my legs together to relieve the tension, forgetting his hand was on my knee until he applied pressure, pulling my right leg back toward him.

He studied me with a smirk, desire swirling in his irises.

“Wyatt?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah, baby?” he leaned his head back against the seat and turned to look at me.

Those words made me feel even more unsure about all of this, and suddenly I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing. Had I completely lost my mind? But I couldn’t say it felt wrong either.

“Angie.” He squeezed my knee.

I finally met his gaze and swallowed thickly at the vulnerability there.

“I know I’m asking for a lot of trust that I probably don’t even deserve. And I have no idea what I’m doing. But the one thing I know is sitting here with you feels right.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Remember, no expectations tonight. Just a date.”

I relaxed back into my seat and nodded. “Okay.”

A date. I could do that. At least I thought I could.

Paul pulled up in front of a brick storefront where the window showcased several beautiful paintings. I couldn’t believe he’d thought to bring me here.

He climbed out and offered me his hand. I scooted over and swung my feet out, loving the way he zeroed in on my legs where the skirt of my dress rose up my thighs. For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to yank it back down.

He pulled me to my feet and tight against his chest, burying his nose in my hair and inhaling.

Did he really just smell me? I giggled.

“Honeysuckle,” he whispered.

I shivered from his warm breath against my ear. “It’s my favorite scent.” I had an obsession, and almost all my lotions, perfumes, and bath items had honeysuckle in them.

“It’s intoxicating.” He pulled back and searched my face as he ran his hand down my arm and threaded his fingers through mine.

We stood there for a heartbeat, staring at each other, before he turned toward the art gallery. I stepped past him as he held the door open, and my jaw dropped. Gorgeous paintings of the lighthouse, the beach, and the town hung around the small space. One in particular caught my eye, and I moved toward it.

“It’s the hotel,” I said in awe. The wraparound porch with the lights, the red door that seemed to pop from the page against the hues of white and lighter browns, the large windows that displayed bouquets of flowers—it was all there, in brilliant, realistic brushstrokes.

He came to stand next to me. “Stella did such a great job on this one.”

I whipped my gaze his way. “How come you haven’t bought it? I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t want it.”

“I do own it.” He didn’t look away from the piece as he talked. “She was still finishing it when Nana B passed. I bought it once she was done, but I wanted it displayed here so everyone in town could see it whenever they wanted. I wasn’t the only one grieving, and it felt selfish to keep it for myself.”

I smiled. “You’re such a romantic.”

Finally, his gaze left the painting to land on me with an eyebrow raised. “No one has ever used that word to describe me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Must be getting soft in your old age, then. Because that is the most sentimental thing I’ve ever heard.”

A woman appeared in the room, and the moment Wyatt turned toward her, she closed the distance, holding her arms out.

“Wyatt, so glad you could come.”

I wished I could say I wasn’t jealous when they embraced, but I’d be lying. She was gorgeous, with long strawberry blond hair and a figure I’d die for.

“Is this Angie?” She turned to look at me as she pulled back.

Who was this woman? And how did she know my name?

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