“What’s what about?” she asks sweetly.
“You and the city guy seem a little friendly.”
“I’m friendly with everyone, Grayson. I’m a bartender. I like to talk. He comes for a drink when he’s in town, and we talk. He’s not a bad guy.”
I grab the business card between my pointer and middle fingers, holding it up for her to see. “He’s using you to get our land.”
She laughs at that. “Right, because the decisions regarding the fate of the farm are resting in my hands? Sure. Honestly, he can have it as long as he leaves my goats.”
“How can you say that?”
She pulls a clean white rag from a folded stack on the counter, tossing it into a small bucket. She brings the bucket to the sink, flipping the handle and letting her hand run underneath. Once she’s satisfied with the temperature, she spins the spout so water fills the bucket. “Because you’re killing yourself over it, Gray. Everyoneworks themselves to the bone just to barely make ends meet. Sometimes, I think they should sell, split the money. Mom and Dad could retire, you could move to the city with Holly, Theo could—”
“I can’t believe you think we should sell,” I interrupt, voice raised. Our conversation has a few heads turning, and Harper offers a placating smile to them before turning to me, her expression twisting.
She shuts off the water, sighing heavily before coming to stand at the end of the bar with me. “Listen, Gray. I don’t want to argue about this. I just want more for you, and I think a life with Holly should include something more than burning yourself out every single day working at the farm. You remember how it was with Dad growing up. He’d be gone from the house before we woke up and work in the fields until it was dark.”
“I do remember, same as you. And I remember being really fucking proud of the man he is.” Our dad worked his ass off to provide for us, through scorching heat waves and ball-busting blizzards. My little sister needs to learn to show her appreciation.
She sighs and her hands come to rest on her hips before her eyes flick to the wall behind me briefly. “You need to get going or you’re going to be late picking her up.”
I twist around, seeing that it’s well past four thirty now. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry that we don’t agree on the farm, but don’t think about that now. Tonight is about Holly, so tell her I said hi and to kick ass. Drive safe, okay?” She nods, walking backward until her shoulders press against one side of the double doors that lead to the kitchen. She disappears with a twist, and I don’t have time to wait for her to come back out because if I don’t leave now, I’m about to hit rush hour traffic, and I don’t want to be late to pick up Holly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Grayson
By the time I’m knocking on Holly’s front door, my nerves are about to snap. I festered over my conversation with Harper and that slimy land developer the entire drive to Des Moines. Each time I had to slam on my brakes to prevent a rear-end collision, I felt my shoulders tense up. And by the fifth time a driver cut me off and flicked me their middle finger, I started to return the gesture. I knock again on her door, this time a little harder, and she whips it open so fast her hair is blown back beside her.
I take her in, her long silky hair is slightly wavy, pulled to one side to drape over her shoulder, resting on her smooth collarbones. It leaves her neck on display, and I suddenly don’t care about the conversation with my sister, her attitude toward our farm, or the shitty drive into the city. All I can think about is the woman infront of me, the one whose tall figure is draped in a sleek emerald-green satin gown that I can’t wait to slip off her shoulders later.
“Baby,” I rasp, stepping into her apartment and shutting the door behind me. “You look…” I trail my eyes down her body and back up, unable to tear my eyes from the perfect amount of cleavage peeking out from the top of her dress. “You look incredible.”
I snake an arm around her waist and pull her to me, eliciting a squeal from her lips. Careful not to mess up her hair, I place a hand on her cheek, pulling her to me for a soft kiss.
“Do I look alright, or is it too much?” she asks against my lips, and I pull back, now noticing the strain etched on her face. I pull her to me again, enveloping her in a hug, rubbing my palm along her back, working to ease some of that tension.
“You are never too much. You lookbreathtaking, sweetheart. Sexy but still elegant.” I look down to my own outfit, now wishing I had taken my dad’s suggestion of a suit jacket. “Shit. I’m underdressed, aren’t I?”
She runs her palms up my chest and over my shoulders, clasping her hands behind my neck. “You look sexy. You’re dressy, but you still look like you, which is whatI want. I’d be disappointed if you made yourself uncomfortable all night long just to please me.”
This woman. How I ever managed to stumble into her on a snowy street in the largest city in the state, to have her eyes notice me, and to somehow keep her interest is something I’ll never stop thanking the heavens for. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and I can hear her shudder out a breath.
“I’m so nervous,” she whispers. “I haven’t been able to eat all day.”
With a gentle hand on her waist, I walk her further into the apartment until her hips rest against the counter. “What can I do to help?” I lower my head, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “How much time do we have before we need to leave?” I ask, brushing the words against her collar bone. “I bet we have enough time for me to take your mind off of things.”
She hums her approval, tilting her neck to give me better access. “We only have about two minutes, and as much as I’m dying to feel you, I don’t think that’s quite enough time for what I want.”
She gasps when I fall to my knees, hands reaching for the long hem of her dress. I bunch it up over her thighs, and she reaches a hand to still me. “What are you doing?”
I push it higher, and she lets me, so I lean in, placing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. “I know you want my cock, baby, and you’ll get it later, believe me. But right now, all I can think about is tasting this sweet cunt, of making you scream and shudder and having you walk into the event tonight feeling weightless.”
She hums in approval and reaches her arms out, curling them back to wrap her hands around the counter. She’s mumbling something about how I don’t have to do this, how we should get going, but her eyes are already rolled back, and her head is tilted to the ceiling when I have her dress at her hips, her red lacy thong on display.
I press my nose to her apex, inhaling roughly, and I groan, my dick immediately hardening. “Sweetheart,” I muse, reaching for her hand and ushering her to hold her dress up. She gladly complies, and I tug her underwear down her legs. Each movement is quiet. No other noise in her apartment besides the soft rustle of fabric, of her heavy breathing as her chest rises and falls with my deliberate movements. When her thong falls to her ankles, I gently pull one leg out. But instead of setting it on the floor, I pull it up, draping it over my shoulder, the movement causes her lips to spread.
