Page 166 of Spicy Ever After
I laugh and squeeze her hand.
She glances at the cottage’s door and wrinkles her nose. “What did my mom say when you answered the door?”
I scratch my jaw. “Well, I don’t think she was thrilled to see me.”
“Dressed like that?” Wicked humor turns her eyes to half-moons. “I would have paid money to see her face. God, I can’t wait to tell Margaret.”
“You’ve told me that she’s always waking you up. Maybe she’ll stop if there’s a chance I’ll be there to answer the door,” I say with a shrug.
“Um, yes, please.”
I check my watch. “I should get dressed.” But I don’t move. I think about her all the time, but I’ve never pictured her soaking in the tub. Clearly, my imagination is slacking. The sight of her like this is better than any fantasy.
And I don’t want to leave her.
“When can I see you again?” I ask.
Her eyes warm. “I can come to the farm tomorrow. Bring lunch for you and your dad.”
I nod. “I’d like that.” But it’s not enough. “Can you pack a bag and stay the night?”
God, her smile is enough to knock me on my ass.
“I think that can be arranged.”
I lean over the side of the tub and kiss her. “It’s a date.”
I kiss her again, a long, savoring kiss that builds until we’re both breathing hard and one sleeve of my robe is soaked.
I pull away and catch Hattie’s mug before it drops into the water. “Right,” I say, panting. “I should probably get dressed and leave you to your bath.”
Flushed and a little dazed, Hattie nods. “Yeah… Yeah. I should hurry or Mom will freak.”
We are focused and disciplined for the next thirty minutes until Hattie asks me how she looks.
She’s wearing a rusty red shirt dress, belted at the waist. The deep color contrasts with her skin so well, I want to devour her like a slice of red velvet cake. The sharp collar opens to a seductive V at her cleavage, and the tie at her waist makes my hands itch to run my hands over her curves.
“That dress is my kryptonite,” I say hoarsely.
Hattie preens. “I made it.” She turns to show me the back and the way the skirt flares over her hips and kisses the back of her knees.
“It’s fucking gorgeous.”
“It has pockets.” She tucks her hands inside in demonstration.
“I’m impressed.” I grab the belt at her waist and gently pull her to me, then give the belt a little tug. “I like this part a lot.”
I run a finger along the edge of the collar, skimming her skin. “This too.” I peel the collar back and plant a kiss on her clavicle.
Her breath hitches.
I kiss my way up her neck until I reach her earlobe and suck it into my mouth. She shivers.
“I-I’m going to be late,” she rasps.
I growl my disappointment. But she’s right. I pull away but take her hand.
When we leave the sanctuary of the little cottage, sadness is like a bee-sting. Hattie looks at the cottage over her shoulder, and I know she feels it too.
