Page 19 of Wooded Bliss

Surprisingly, I can’t wait to find out.

CHAPTER 8

BIRDIE

This can’t be real life, can it? I didn’t actually open my door to find Thatcher Bosch on my porch wanting to talk to me, did I? It certainly feels real, but that doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

The last thing I expected to happen today is this. Absolute last thing.

I can’t explain why I invited him in for dinner, but there was just something about the way he looked at me—with hope and longing—and I couldn’t ignore it. How could I let a man who had sought me out to apologize just walk away?

We’ve been sitting at my small table with empty plates in front of us for a while. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, but the sun has set now, and the moon is tracking its way through the sky. When the company is good, time has no real meaning.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to talk about with Thatcher. It wasn’t just not knowing what to say, but it’s not easy being around a man I find so damn attractive. It’s like I’m constantly fighting with myself to not jump him.

It’s so easy to picture myself straddling his lap, burying my fingers in his hair and kissing him. Everything in me desperately wants the fantasies I came up with last night to come true.

Having these feelings is strange since I’ve never had them before. For a while I thought something was wrong with me since I simply didn’t respond to men. No, it was more than that. I would recoil from men.

But now, sitting with Thatcher, all I can think about are his large hands roaming all over my body. Then there’s how difficult it is not to stare at his mouth.

I wonder what he tastes like. It’s clear his body is criminally fit. Maybe he would let me map the planes of his chest with my hands. And then my mouth.

“Little one,” Thatcher’s voice holds a hint of warning in the growled words and my gaze snaps up to meet his.

I bet I’m drooling. That would be embarrassing. When I try and wipe at my mouth covertly, the way Thatcher smirks at me tells me I wasn’t slick at all.

“You can’t look at me like that,” his voice is a sexy as fuck rasp.

“Like what?” Is that my voice? All breathy and needy?

I’ve never sounded like that in my life, but after a few hours in this man’s presence and I’m falling apart. Or maybe I’m just melting into a swoony mess.

If there were ever a man to swoon over it would be him. And having him in my house, sitting at my table, and eating my food, has me all twisted up inside.

“Like you want me to grip your hips and haul you into my lap,” he grits out, his jaw clenched and making the sharp line of his jaw even more pronounced.

My face heats with his words. I’ve never had anyone speak to me so blatantly. If it were anyone else, I’d be putting them in their place. But since it’s Thatcher all I can think about is how it would feel to be pressed against him.

It’s impossible to stop myself from looking him over. He’s a lot of man and having him sitting at my small table is almost comical. He doesn’t fit, but he hasn’t complained.

His large hand cups my cheek and his thumb runs back and forth over my skin. “The color you turn when you blush is beautiful.” His eyes drop as he looks me over. “It makes me curious about how far down it goes.”

“What am I going to do with you, Thatcher?”

He flashes me a wide smile which is far too sexy. I don’t know what was going on with him yesterday, but it feels like I’ve seen a completely different side of him tonight. Not only did he come over to apologize, but he’s been witty and charming while also being attentive.

He has obviously listened to every word I’ve said. He didn’t just let me ramble either, he asked questions, and his eyes sparkled as he took in my excitement like it was his own. There aren’t a lot of men out there like that.

“I have some ideas,” his voice is husky and sends a shiver down my spine.

I press my hands to my cheeks, knowing they have to be bright red right now, and look away from him. “I’ve never done this before,” I admit quietly.

He’s quiet for a little too long. When I force myself to look at him, I’m met with dark, intense brown eyes. He’s staring at me with so many emotions on his face. There’s heated desire, but there’s something else softer underneath it.

“What do you mean?”

Fuck. This is embarrassing.

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