Page 7 of Lead Me Knot

I slide my gaze lower to the fabric clinging to her body. Her tits round, a good helping and a handful, her nipples hard and teasing. The shirt dips down to the curve of her waist to the swell of her hips. I remember her having a rockin’ body at the reception, and we even had a moment that felt like it could have led to more. But then my nephew jumped in excitement when he saw a doodlebug on the side of the chicken coop, and we lost the opportunity that had beenpresented. I can’t remember what happened after, but I know it involved a lot of shots and stumbling up to my room, alone, before passing out just before sunrise.

I catch her eyes returning after a quick once-over herself and biting that lip again. I’m tempted to bite it for her. She laughs as if I’ve called her out. I don’t laugh, but a wry grin has solidified on my face.

“We’re soaked.” Her eyes glitter with mischief before she turns away from me. If I’m reading her right, which I rarely get women wrong, she’s nervous. Which is surprising, but what I know about Lauralee Knot, which might only be a small fraction of who she is, she’s not a shy woman. I’ve seen her dance at Whiskey’s on a Thursday night like she doesn’t have work the following morning. I’ve heard a few stories about her and my sister sneaking out back in high school and skinny-dipping down at the river with some assholes from Dover Country. And she held her own the night of the reception. I might have been stumbling upstairs, but she looked fine and dandy from what I recall. So her being nervous almost doesn’t make sense. She’s known me forever, so that’s the last thing I want her to be with me. I reach out, capturing her by the elbow. “Hey?—”

“I’ll get some towels,” she says with her gaze falling to the floor. Sticking to the mats covering the tile floor, she walks like the lava might get her if she steps off. She opens a large cabinet and pulls out a stack of dishcloths.

I chuckle. She rolls her eyes and grins. “You get what you get.” A small pile of them hits my chest before she eyes me again. “Guess you’re stuck in those wet underwear.”

“Yeah,” I say, holding the tiny towels and glancing at the soaked black cotton hugging my body. Peeking up at her, I smirk with a waggle of my brows. “I can always take them off.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, Greene.”

It’s hard not to with her. Even drenched, this woman is fucking stunning. I’m kicking myself for not seeing her outside my sister’s shadow.What would I have done anyway?Fucked her back then and ditched her for New York City. She was a girl.

She’s not anymore.

With the cabinet door blocking my view of her, I start to dry my body while watching the shirt come over her and down her arms. Yeah, I’m shameless. No use pretending I’m a gentleman when she already knows I’m not.

When she pushes the cabinet closed, her bare torso sports a white apron with a red-trimmed ruffle around the edge, unfortunately hiding what I really wanted to see. I never had a kitchen fantasy, but one’s in the making with her looking that fucking sexy.

“Eyes up here, Baylor.”

I look up, grinning. “That’s quite the outfit.”

“Better than freezing and dripping everywhere in that shirt.”

“I definitely approve.” The ruffle doesn’t hide the rounded side of her tit or the tattoo on her ribs.

“I bet you do.” She walks to the large fridge to peek inside. “Are we thinking soup or sandwich or both?”

Neither but I keep what I’m really craving to myself, or I might get whacked over the head with a bag of flour this time. “Whatever is easiest.” I come closer, and ask, “What does your tattoo say?”

Her hand covers the bare skin over her ribs. “Oh . . . nothing really. Just something . . . I’m thinking chicken salad on croissants.”

“Sounds good.” I study her expression and the way sheappears restrained in some ways she didn’t prior. “Did I cross a boundary I didn’t know existed? Or is it a secret?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she dips into the fridge. “Kind of.”

Not sure which question she’s answering, though it may be both. “Now I’m more curious than before.”

Laughter shakes her shoulders, but she doesn’t give me the pleasure of seeing her smile since she’s faced away from me. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Yet I still want to know.”

“Living on the edge?” When she turns around with a glass container, she carries on like we weren’t talking about the tattoo at all. “I made this before I closed last night. I think it needs time for the flavors to marinate.” She glances at me. “So if it’s not as good as?—”

“I’m sure it will be great.”

As much as I want to push the topic, it’s not my business. And the way I see things potentially headed with her, I’ll see it for myself anyway. I ask, “What can I do?”

“Something you’re great at.” She raises a brow and smirks. “Stand there and look good.”

Chuckling, I weave my fingers through my hair. “Easy enough.” Too easy. I move to the stainless-steel island in the center of the room that shines under the lights and look around. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“Do you hear that often?” She snorts with laughter as she pops the top off the container. My ego isn’t so fragile that I can’t find her utterlyadorable.

“You’re as quick with the quips as you are the punches.”

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