Page 61 of A Bittersweet Summer

Cass huffs a laugh, and I finally crack a smile.

I’m all too aware of her movements when she saunters up to the side of the tractor. If I look down, I know I’ll be able to stare right down that damn tank top. After yesterday, I’m not even sure she’d mind. In fact, I have a suspicion that she’dlikeit with how she asked me to put my hands on her. And that thought makes it all the more difficult.

When it comes to Cassidy Summers, I’m hellbent on giving her what she wants.

With my body buzzing in anticipation, I keep my eyes fixed on the front of the tractor, taking note of what I’ll need to go over exactly. Cass plants her boot on the rung and hauls herself upward onto the narrow platform. Even in the open air, the one singular seat has my blood heating with all kinds of ideas—filthy ideas.

It’s not like I haven't taught someone how to drive the tractor before. There are plenty of ways to teach this that don’t involve touching. Respectful ways—ways I intend to use.

If she truly wants to learn, I’m willing to be patient.

“Hold on and lean against the tire cover,” I say, pushing the clutch to the floor. “I’ll show you first, and then we can switch places.”

She nods in agreement, those blue eyes still wide as saucers as they flick from the clutch to the brake, and over the gear shift. I get the thing turned on, and it jolts forward.

On instinct, I reach out to steady her. My skin burns hot where my arm wraps around her waist, one hand planted firmly on her hip. From this angle, all I can do is look up to see her thick lashes kiss the tops of her cheeks. Her nerves charge the air, though I’m not sure why she’s so nervous. She’s the one who askedmeto do this, and everything she’s done so far, she’s taken to easily.

And if not easily, she had enough grit to make it happen anyway.

“You good?” I question, relishing in the way my hand still clutches her waist.

“Yeah.” She’s a bit breathless, but I pry myself away. We may be at the back of the barn, but any one of the clients or employees could be out here. Walton's finding us was bad enough. I don’t intend to get caught by anyone who could make this a bigger problem than it is.

Even so, for some damn reason, I cannot stop touching this woman. And sitting with the knowledge that she wanted me to?

I can hear every gasp, every sharp intake of her breath as I traced my hand up the side of her waist yesterday. The memory of her skin, hot and damp, sends blood right to my cock. I can imagine how she’d sound if I took her right here, showed her all the ways I could actually touch her. Make her—

Enough.

I focus on steering the tractor back to the far field that sits empty. With the main herd on a rotation, this one will be thoroughly fertilized. The tractor crawls forward, so slow that we could probably walk to the field faster, but it’s best to take it easy for learning purposes.

“Two symbols here,” I point out. “Rabbit is fast, turtle is slow. As you can see, we are barely moving.”

“You’re not pressing the gas?” she questions, eyes flicking to my boots.

“No. Not for this. You see the clutch down there?” I ask. “Very important you fully engage that.” I break into a fuller explanation as we inch over the grassy path leading to the back field. At this rate, we may never get there, but it’s important she has time to learn—get comfortable.

When I see her eyes glaze over as if I’ve given her too much information, I change my tactic.

“We can switch spots if that’s easiest.” I risk looking up at her again, and it is the wrong move. There’s a heat there—something I’d like to burn in.

Cass stares at me, her lips parted and chest rising and falling right along with mine. My blood heats instantly, breaking me out of whatever explanation I was giving. Despite the clear skies overhead, the air feels electric—just like the storms yesterday.

“What if,” she says, just loud enough for me to hear over the rumbling of the machine. “What if I do something wrong and need help?” Her tongue pokes out briefly as she swipes it at the corner of her bottom lip, andfuck. This was a terrible idea.

And I can say that because it wasn’t evenmyidea.

I’m suddenly counting yards behind us, wondering how far we have to travel for this lesson to feel private.

“I think you’ll do alright,” I encourage, swallowing to keep the words from creeping up my throat. Somehow, I fail at the task. “If you’re nervous…” The words linger—one last feeble attempt at keeping myself under control and maintaining my focus. “If you’re nervous, you can sit on my lap. I promise to be nothing but respectful.”

There.

It’s done.

The ball is in her court.

Right when I think she’s going to refuse, second-guessing the last twenty-four hours, Cass plants her ass firmly on my thigh. My senses light up like Christmas, and I’m back to sitting around the bonfire again.