Page 42 of On The Rocks

“We’re still wearing clothes.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, without thinking.

She pushed me onto my back and tossed her leg over my thighs until she straddled both of them, and each hand was braced on my shoulders. “Is that so?” Her long black hair was half in and out of the braids she wore last night and fell forward to pool around my shoulders.

Her vest had unbuttoned sometime in the night, leaving just those skintight tank tops covering her mouthwatering breasts. She wore a series of golden chains that dangled over me in her position.

“Fuck, Lennon.”

She grinned down at me. “Youcansay my full name.”

“I’ll say it all damn day and night if you want.” My hand slipped out of her clothing to grip her hip and the other rose to thread into the hair at the nape of her neck.

Her dark lashes lowered as she perused my body, my mouth, and finally, her gaze lifted back up to meet mine. “Good to know.”

Then she slid off me and got off the bed. “Got any coffee and breakfast?”

“I can manage that.”

“Good.” She sauntered into the en suite bathroom and closed the door.

I draped my arm over my face as I dragged in a deep lungful of breath. What the hell did that mean?

And could you expire from an erection?

Then she popped her head through a crack in the door. “Toothbrush? I’m assuming you don’t want me to use yours.”

I did not have a comeback for that one, either.

Were we in a parallel universe?

“Under the sink, there’s a few backups.”

“Sweet.” Then she closed the door again.

I rolled off the bed and nearly tripped over one of my boots. Guess that answered a few questions.

At least, she’d helped me get them off.

A quick flash of her falling on top of me flitted through my memory banks and then flickered off like a television set getting unplugged.

I picked up my boots and brought them with me to shove them in the closet near the front door. I opened the front door and saw her deep violet Jeep in my driveway.

My place was a bit more out of the way than most of the properties, but the persistent engine of the backhoe we’d been using to clear dead brush was far too close.

Beckett and Justin were probably working on the Blackbird cottage, which was just over the hill from the old pressing building—aka my place.

Hell.

I patted my back pocket with a curse. I didn’t even know where my damn phone was. Would they come looking for me?

I tipped back my head. That wouldn’t be good.

Which would have to be a problem for later today.

I hurried over to the slim half bath tucked in a hidden corner of the room to take care of the more pressing concerns. I winced at my haggard face after I emptied my bladder.

My mouth tasted like death.

---