So she pressed her hips into me, grinding against my hard-on. "The offer's there, Cy. If you carry me upstairs, I promise I'm not going to - "
The sound of the doorbell cut her off. Violet just closed her eyes and leaned back, but the words her lips made silently were all profane. I wanted to lean in and kiss them away, but I knew better. Reluctantly, I lifted my hands, and she climbed off my lap, tromping toward the house with a purpose. I watched her go until she was inside.
Then I leaned my head back and reached down, giving myself a damned hard squeeze. Fuck, she was my poison. I loved it - and her. I still didn't have a clue how to make her understand that, but the doorbell proved my point. I couldn't just turn this off. Hell, I could still feel the memory of her breath on my lips. I hadn't even kissed her, and I was still a mess. I also loved it. This woman was becoming my addiction.
Chapter Twenty-One
My panties were wet. My nipples were hard. Having Cy admit that he was hot and bothered, watching him fumble around like a teenager overme?Yeah, it was not something I wanted to walk away from. All of that combined made me just a bit grumpy when I wrenched open the door. On the other side, a middle-aged man in a polo and jeans flinched at the intensity of it.
"Uh, I'm looking for a Violet Dawson?" he asked.
"That's me." I stepped out and closed the door behind me. "Can I help you?"
His eyes jumped down to my chest and then back up, the movement almost involuntary. I didn't think this shirt was that impressive, but Cy had done the same. Maybe it was just that it was clearly a man's shirt? No idea. I also didn't give a shit if this guy looked at my chest. It was plastered up for everyone to see in the middle of town, for Christ's sake.
"Uh..." The guy lifted a clipboard and scanned the top page. "I have a report here that your property is no longer producing any agricultural products?"
"Uh huh," I said. "Well, we just hayed the field. I'm not sure if your records show it, but I only took possession of the property in June. The last owner was my grandmother, who passed away this year."
"I'm real sorry for your loss," he said. "So was there anything produced last year?"
"No, because she was being treated for cancer. The farm has been fallow for two and a half years. State law says that I get five before it reverts, and we are already back in business. Would you like to see the hay crop?"
"Do you have any receipts of sale?" he asked.
"Not for the first cut. We're keeping that for our own livestock."
That made his brows go up. "You have livestock?"
"Horses for a children's rehabilitation center. No, the center isn't open yet, but we're in the process of remodeling so that can happen." I gestured to the barn. "My farm manager should be working in there. If you give me a moment, I can grab a pair of shoes and have him show you around?"
"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Dawson."
"Miss," I corrected, reaching back for the door. "One moment." But as soon as I stepped inside, I didn't go for my shoes. I headed up the hall toward Ash's office. "Hey, ag assessor is here. Let everyone know? I'm going to have Luke show him around."
He looked up and nodded. "Think Simmons did this?"
"Sounds like it."
Then I found my shoes and made it back. The man was still standing where I'd left him, taking sanctuary in the shade of the front porch. This time, however, I realized that his shirt said he was from Fannin County. A laminated ID card was clipped to the pocket of his jeans, and the truck in my drive had a decal on the side for the county office. Evidently he was legit, but even if he wasn't, I had nothing to hide.
"This way, Mr...?" I lifted a brow.
"Jones," he said, following me down the steps and toward the barn. "I'm sorry to drop in on you unannounced, ma'am, but that's the rules."
"It's not a problem," I assured him. "Luke?"
"In here!" he called back.
"Need you to show someone around!"
I came around the corner in time to see him pulling his shirt back on. Yeah, that boy was spending a little too much time showing off, and I was starting to really like it. He didn't bother tucking his shirt in, though. He just reached for his hat and settled that onto his head.
"Sure, what am I..." his voice trailed off when he saw Mr. Jones behind me. "Can I help you?"
"Mr. Jones, this is Luke Barrett, my farm manager. Also my boyfriend. He's handling the haying and the horses."
"Sir," Luke said, offering his hand.
