Page 19 of A Blue Ribbon Romance

“A large red eye—cream, no sugar, and whatever the floofy dessert drink is she’s ordering—and maybe one of the caramel pecan twists.”

In front of him, a ripple seemed to move up the young woman’s back, her spine straightening. He could let her turn, let her see who was buying her coffee, giving her the chance to demure.Not today.Rourke placed his hand on her back, gently guiding her aside. He tried mightily not to notice the way his palm fit against her like a puzzle piece.

His arm nearly trembled with the force of tightly his muscles were clenched, and it was a testament to the control he had developed in the weight room that he remained steady.And you have Khash and his ridiculous lifting regimen to thank for it. Not that you’re going to tell him that.

The first unencumbered sight of her pert face was like someone’s fist smashing into his ribs. His heart lurched and tripped, the ability to suck in a breath deserting him, leaving him wheezing like a fish, flopping at the bottom of the boat. He realized that his initial fear of her being barely out of her teens was foolish.

This was a grown woman, not a little girl, not as young as she appeared with her face mask and head covering. If his lungs were fully functioning, he would have sagged in relief. She was lovely. His eyes followed the length of her jaw, the curve of her chin, the column of her throat. He fought a grin at the soft roundness at the apple of her cheeks, and the appealing crimson flush they currently wore. A billow of unruly dark curls was pulled away from her face, and her dark eyes were as wide as the moon as she gazed up at him in shock.

Rourke wondered if she could tell that his heart was thumping behind the thick cording of his throat, wondered if she would notice the engorged outline at the front of his trousers. He wondered if she knew that every time he stretched over her on the milking bench, he was thinking about stretching over her spread-open legs and licking her pussy until she was bucking against his mouth, or else that he wanted to see her splayed across his lap, thighs stretched wide, riding his bull cock like a rodeo champion. If she knew he wanted to learn what her favorite book was, if she liked the rain, what she considered a perfect afternoon.We’ll start with her name.He wondered, belatedly, if she even recognized him.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Perhaps, if he spoke, he might jog her memory and capture her awareness, the way her voice had captivated him. Her dark eyes were darting about, and Rourke couldn’t tell if she was trying to look him over properly for the first time or if she was looking for an escape route. “I suppose this means you can’t say minotaurs aren’t buying you drinks when you’re out and about.”

The fire spread up her neck, meeting the blush of her cheeks in the most adorable way. He wasn’t sure if her crimson flush indicated she had already known it was him or not, but he supposed now it didn’t matter. She had a well-defined cupid’s bow, and her lips were stained a soft plum pink, her lower lip becoming trapped in her teeth in the space of a heartbeat as she gazed up at him. For the life of him, he was unable to remember how he had imagined her mouth, even though he had been trying to imagine it for weeks. It didn’t matter if he had pictured a wide smile or a pouty moue, because now that he knew the actual shape of her lips, nothing he conjured in his head could have been good enough.

“No, I suppose I can’t.”

His eyes moved over discreetly as he could manage, appreciating her soft curves, taking note of where on his chest her head would hit. He towered over her as he knew he would, but here on equal footing, she was not as petite and birdlike as she seemed from high above on the milking deck. That, too, was a relief. Rourke thought he was probably correct in his clearheaded guesstimation of her age. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, more than a decade his junior.

Still. She’s an adult. It’s just something to keep in mind.He was getting wildly ahead of himself, already considering the way he would need to think about their disparate life experiences and professional accomplishments down the road, when they hadn’t even sat down with their coffee.The climb up the mountain starts with a single step. You can’t start living until you leave the labyrinth. He shook his head ruefully.Listen to yourself; you went from mopey teenage drama queen to sounding like Khash.

“You didn’t need to do that, you know.” Her voice was a breathy exhalation as she gazed up at him, biting her lip once more. If she were actively trying to make cock hard, nothing she could have done would have been more effective than that unconscious little motion.

“Of course, I didn’t.” He matched her in volume, keeping his voice low. In response, she leaned forward. He inclined his head, and if he bent at the waist, he might be able to capture her lips right then and there, making out at the pickup counter.Would that really be the worst thing?“But I wanted to.”

“Rourke, are you and Lurielle coming to my Irus Day cookout?”

Xenna’s voice came from behind him at the counter, an annoying gnat he wanted to shoo away interrupting the moment. The sheepwoman cleared her throat imperiously when he declined to break the moment. He knew his neighbor would not be deterred that easily, turning to the counter with a huff, answering in a quick, clipped voice.

“As long as I’m in town, I’ll pop in. You know I can’t make any promises with my schedule.”

Xenna shook her head as if he were one of her children, and she wasn’t buying his excuse for not doing his chores. “We haven’t seen the two of you in months. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“You can put a picture of my head on a popsicle stick and pretend I’m there.” A swift smile back, a reminder that she was still there with him. “I’m not making plans for Lurielle, though. Don’t try to get me in trouble like that.”

“I don’t see why not. Don’t think Reg and I didn’t hear the two of you busting a gut in the backyard the other night. I can’t think of a better person to ensure she’s there!”

He fixed Xenna with his most disdainful look as the sheepwoman laughed. “Is it a pool party? Do I get to see my tiles? Until I get to enjoy the fruits of my wallet’s labor, I’m indisposed.”

Rourke turned with a grin, expecting to find a similar expression on her face as the pastry bag was passed across the counter, finding, to his consternation, the opposite of a smile. Before him, her eyebrows had come together, and beneath, a wounded look. His confidence faltered for half a heartbeat before he straightened up.No more interruptions. She’s all that matters.

“You’re not going home early, are you?”

He half-hoped she might say yes. His balls would be furious with him, and they might conspire with his cock to strangle him while he was sleeping if they didn’t get the opportunity to be stroked and squeezed by her, but it was a chance he thought it might be wise to take. He wanted to get to know her, wanted to determine if the connection he thought they had was real or only real in his recently vivid imagination. He would ask her to dinner right then and there if she answered in the affirmative.You’re too old for games.

“I had a cancellation.” The words themselves were completely benign. A straightforward answer to a straightforward question. Her voice was chipper, ringing with friendliness . . . and utterly false.

Rourke knew a customer service voice when he heard it, and he knew what it meant. Another punch to the gut, this one with more force.You’re just a customer, a client. She’s providing a service, nothing more. She’s practically half your age, you undoubtedly have nothing in common, and here you are, mooning over her while she’s just trying to do her job. Making a fool of yourself.His mouth opened to respond, but for the first time in months, there was no ill-conceived thought ready to fall out. There was nothing at all, words failing him. Instead, he felt hollow and empty, as if his bones had turned to sand, but at that minute, their order was called up.

“Chlorophyll chiller for Sleeva, honeycomb latte for Violet, and a red eye for Rourke.”

“Violet.” He repeated her name slowly, letting each syllable sit in his mouth. It conjured an image of lush, dainty purple blooms mirrored in the luminescence of her dark eyes as they widened. He could almost hear the patter of rain against the window sill, a spring afternoon storm, leaving the room dim with shadows. They could be tucked in bed, and he could be learning the taste of her skin as he kissed down her neck, the smell of petrichor and flowers blowing in on the breeze through the open window.Violet.

Her hand reached out to take the cup, her small, delicious little fingers – fingers that had given him so much pleasure last several months — curled around the cardboard heat guard. It was the first time he touched her. The first time she ever touched him in a nonprofessional manner, in a way that had nothing to do with milking him. Rourke knew he was meant to let go of the cup, but his hand refused to obey, too enamored with the way her hand looked, so small, pressed beside his own.

“Thanks again for that; you really didn’t need to —”

“Like I said, I wanted to,” he cut her off quickly, still holding the cup.It’s now or never. You’ll never get another chance like this.“Would you care to join me?”

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