His breath fans across the side of my neck, and my brain short-circuits. Every nerve lights up, my skin tingles, and my pulse races, tap dancing against my ribs. Duke lowers his head, sniffs my hand, then lips the apple right from my palm and bites into it.
I laugh, startled and breathless. “He took it.”
“Told ya.”
Beau’s voice vibrates through me, smooth as warm caramel and chocolate. His hands hover at my waist and a flood of relief and want settling into my bones.
“A gentleman,” he says, his breath tickling the shell of my ear.
My neck relaxes and I lean into him. I reach around and run my fingers through his hair. His hand slips across my tummy. I tilt my head before I think better of it, and his face is too close, too warm, too much. The air between us crackles, and I swear he feels it too because he stills, eyes locked on mine.
“Beau,” I whisper. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Do you trust me, Coco?” His lips ghost over my cheek, and my breath catches.
I should step away. Remember all the reasons this is a bad idea. But I’m tired of playing it safe. Tired of holding back. All I can think about is the way he smells, how he’ll taste.
I do trust him.
He slips off my beanie, and brushes a lock of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my temple. “You’re wearin’ the décor,” he says, plucking hay from my curls.
“Maybe I’m feeling—festive.” My breathing slows as if all the air’s been sucked out of the room.
“You do festive real fine.” He leans closer, sliding his knuckles over my cheek.
“Are you going to flirt, or kiss me?” My voice trembles, barely above a whisper.
He hesitates for a heartbeat, then his thumb traces the edge of my lip. “Tell me to stop. I promise I will if you say the word.”
But I don’t.
I rise on my toes, closing the small gap between us. Our lips brush once—tentative, testing. The kiss is soft, but the moment I sigh against him, it deepens. My nerves jump, skip, and scatter in every direction. My skin tingles, alive everywhere his hands touch. Every doubt I have unravels.
Beau makes a low, deep sound that vibrates through me. His fingers curl possessively into my body, pulling me closer until there’s no space left to hide. He tilts his head, turning me in his arms. Heat blooms low in my belly as he coaxes my lips open with the tip of his tongue.
I clutch his shirt, feeling the flex of muscles beneath the fabric, the solid weight of him against me. His hand slides up my back, fingers splaying at the nape of my neck, anchoring me to him.
It’s sweet and dizzying. Everything my body craves.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless. The air between us hums, charged and fragile. He rests his forehead againstmine, our breath mingling hot and ragged, and the faintest smile curves his lips.
“Coco,” he whispers, like my name is the only thing keeping him grounded.
Keepingmegrounded. Because nothing about this feels like a fling, and that’s where the danger lies.
8
COCO
The morning sunbarely crests the ridge when I pull into Beau’s driveway, coffee in hand, heart still trying to make sense of our kiss last night.
Every time I closed my eyes to sleep, I relived the kiss that wrecked my common sense. I’ve kissed plenty of men, but none of them ever made my knees go weak while my heart did the cha-cha.
As soon as I catch sight of Beau, my body betrays my hard-wired brain. He’s stacking hay bales, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, his shirt clinging to every hard line of muscle.
“Morning, darlin’,” his voice is as smooth as a caramel macchiato.
“Morning,” I say, vowing to keep things casual. If I lose my head, I’ll sure as heck lose my heart.
