Page 4 of Butter My Biscuit

I laugh. “I love you too. Hope you have a good night.”

“Chat tomorrow?”

“You’d better believe it,” I say, knowing I have the perfect plan in place.

“Good night, Grace.”

I end the call and set my phone down next to me on the bed. I’ve been trying to imagine the look on his face when I see him. I like to think he’ll be happy, and I’ll fall into his arms, and we’ll make love until the sun sets.

Or maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, and we’ll fuck right there on the floor. At this point, I don’t care. I crave intimacy and not from a stranger. Whoever I’m with next, I want them to know me and love me.

When I return to the living room, I grab my suitcase and then change into the two-piece bathing suit that accentuates my curves, which I’ve learned to appreciate over the years.

As a teenager, I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing something that showed my stomach, but years ago, I decided to step outside of my comfort zone and not care what anyone thought anymore. All thanks to Harrison questioning why I gave two shits about what anyone thought. Something he reminds me of often.

Since then, it’s been crop tops, miniskirts, bikinis. Nothing is off-limits for my body.Not anymore.

As I make my way through the kitchen with a towel tucked under my arm, I notice a bottle of wine on the counter. I wrap my long hair into a top bun, snapping the ponytail holder from my wrist, then pick up the note.

“Aww,” I say, seeing the host left this as a welcoming gift, and take it outside with me.

Before I open the sliding door, I catch sight of Harrison with his muscular arms stretched out as he relaxes in the hot tub with his eyes closed. I drink him in and ask myself how the boy I used to eat mud pies with becamethisman.

Harrison Valentine is tall, handsome, and stacked with muscles from working with horses all his life. He even has a cute little dimple that’s buried in his right cheek that only makes an appearance when he genuinely smiles. With his dark, messy hair andgo with the flowattitude, Southern charm and manners, and the ability to make anyone laugh at the wrong time … well, he’s the catch of the century.

The only problem?

No oneis catching him.

Not even me. But that’s because of our pact. The unspoken one, where we don’t cross the line regardless of how many drinks we’ve had.

His long, dark eyelashes flutter open when I step outside, and his smoldering gaze pierces through me. Harrison’s sexiness without even trying wounds me.

“I brought this.” I hold up the bottle. Feeling the brisk winter breeze, I shiver. It’s in the upper forties, and my nipples are so hard that they could cut glass.

His eyes dart up and down my body, and he grins, but he doesn’t say shit. “Come join me. It feels amazing.”

After setting down my towel, I climb in and move next to him. The jets spray against my tense muscles. I hand him the wine, then roll my neck around. It cracks a few times.

“Want me to rub your shoulders?”

“Oh God, yes.”

I move in front of him, and his strong hands are on me. His thumbs dig in to my neck and knead the knots away. I close my eyes, enjoying how well he works me, how he knowsexactlywhat I need.

“You’re tight.” His breath brushes against my neck, and goose bumps form.

“Mmhmm. But, damn, do I like it hard.” I laugh, fully melting into his touch. “If training doesn’t work out for ya, you should look into becoming a massage therapist. You’d be fully booked.”

He snickers, his hands sliding up my neck, and he digs his fingertips into the base of my head, adding more pressure as he turns me into putty. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It grows quiet, other than the breeze through the trees and the sound of the jets moving water around us.

He softly clears his throat. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

I glance at him over my shoulder, barely meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t stop massaging me. “Sure.”

“Are you moving?”

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