I have never, in my entire life, been the kind of guy to let loose a hubba-hubba, but that is exactly what my dick’s saying right now.
Maisey Spencer ishot, and I am not immune to noticing, no matter how much it pisses me off.
She lifts delicate, newly shaped eyebrows at me. “Flint? Everything okay?”
“You’re a girl.”
Motherfucking fucker, I did not just say that.
I drop my feet to the ground, scrambling to cover the fact that those words actually left my mouth, and in the process I drop my laptop onto the school-grade tile floor.
“Are you all right?” She steps smartly into my classroom, heels clicking like a ticking time bomb coming to set off my libido, while I bend to pick up the device that damn well better not be broken, which puts me in exactly the right—wrong—spot to notice her dress swishing just above her knees.
Heradorableknees.
What thefuck?
Who thinkskneesare adorable?
And why am I frozen, staring at the tiniest peek of the bottoms of her thigh muscles, which shouldnotbe what I’m noticing about this woman, and shoulddefinitely notbe what I want to see more of?
Who wants to see a woman’sthigh muscleswhen there’s that hint of cleavage and that slender neck and those plump kiss-me lips painted pink?
No.
No, I am not all right.
I jerk back to my feet and set the laptop safely on my desk. “No food in the classroom,” I grunt.
I’m a damn caveman.
Her lips purse, but her eyes—hereyes.
They’re dancing with amusement.
“My apologies,” she says with entirely too much cheekiness. “I was making the rounds, introducing myself and handing out cherry crisps to all of the staff, but if you don’t want yours, I’m sure—”
I growl.
It’s feral.
And I should be ashamed, butcherry crisp.
Oh, fuck.
The hair. The cherry crisp. “You met my aunt.”
“Opal?” She slides the aluminum foil pan onto my desk, then follows it by sliding her ass onto my plain wood desk, too, making the dress ride up enough for me to see even more of those firm, thick thighs. And then she swings her legs.
I’m going to have a very visible problem very, very soon.
“She’ssotalented.” Maisey swishes her hair. “I owe you a debt of thanks for cutting me out of that swing. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever cut my hair this short, butoh my God, Iloveit. I feel like a new woman. So thank you.”
Mental note: become a hermit. While living at the gatehouse on her ranch. Which she’ll drive by probably eighteen times a day.
Hell, I saw her drive by at least six times every day since that moving truck showed up a few days ago, and I’m only home about four waking hours a day right now.
Fuck.
