“I’m feeling a lot of things,” he growls, his hands tightening on my hips.
I fight to keep from wiggling my butt against his crotch, but it’s really damned hard not to. “I mean my feet.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so if I tap on your leg with my foot twice, you stop pressing on that pedal. If I tap once, you press the pedal. But do everything gradually. No stomping.”
“All right.”
Fudge me, I love a man able to understand when I’m more of an expert at something. Chalk one up to Luke’s heightened intelligence and healthy ego—he knows his own worth, so he’s not threatened by mine.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“No idea,” I say. Then the book takes over my body. “Why, Luke, I can’t believe you’re taking me here.” I point, right as the sign for Mystic Springs Farmers’ Market flashes by on our right.
“Remembered you said you wanted to come, babe,” he says.
I giggle as the book character, while the real me taps my right heel twice against his leg. This time, when he eases off the gas, the book lets us slow without sending us back to the start of the scene. So I tap my left heel, and he brakes enough that I can take the right turn into the parking lot for the springs. We roll to a halt, taking up three parking spaces, but we didn’t hit anything, so I’m counting it as a total win.
As soon as we stop, I slam the truck into park and turn off the engine. The movement shifts my hips, and Luke groans. “Do that again.”
My next wiggle makes it really clear he’s hard as stone, a solid bar of desire pressed against my butt. Days of being near him, longing for him, fill me with neediness. Hot prickly excitement clenches my core. I imagine us sitting like this, me riding him in a reverse cowgirl. If the steering wheel weren’t in the way, I’d be tempted to try it right here, right now.
“Come on, babe.” He opens the door of the truck and starts sliding out, pulling me along with him. “We gotta make this worth skipping dance lessons for.”
“Just as long as you promise we’ll be ready for the Valentine’s dance competition next weekend.” I bat myeyelashes at him so quickly you’d think I’m trying to fan his face. Flutter. Flutter. Blink. “That’s the deal we made, remember?”
“We’ll be great,” he says, all easy confidence. “You said this market was the best place to get the food and decorations for the fireman’s fundraiser.”
“It is!” Blink. Flutter. Blink. “We’ll find everything. I just know it!”
We spend the next hour hand in hand, winding our way through the stalls of the outdoor market. Exactly as my book character said, we find everything needed to run the fundraiser in two weeks, placing orders for all of the food. We also select lovely handmade decorations for the party, loading down the canvas bags Luke now carries.
It’s the most adorable little market, and I should enjoy this more than I am, but the book characters control us the entire time, so even though I’m spending time with Luke, I know it’s not really him. Only one tiny glimpse of him shows through. When we stop at the stall carrying carved wooden animals, I coo over the cats, which to be fair could be me or the book’s heroine. But Luke’s fingers linger over the back of a tiny dragon curled into a ball like a sleeping cat, tail tucked around its front legs, which pillow its head. My heart skips to see the longing on his face. Does he want kids? I know I do. Can he even have kids with a human?
We move on to more food stalls, sampling as we go. It’s a perfect romantic-movie date, filled with lots of laughter and a shared ice cream cone we lick far too suggestively for my peace of mind.
Or for his, it seems.
A cedarwood plank building stands past the end of the stalls. Luke tugs me around the far side, where trees close in and everything gets instantly quieter. He runs a hand across the top of the door frame, takes down a key, and unlocks the door.
“Luke, what is this? Are we allowed to be here?”
“I saved the manager’s house from a fire last Christmas. Called in a favor to give you a surprise.”
He pulls me inside, humidity immediately coating my face. A naturally shaped pool steams in the center of the room.
“This is how Mystic Springs got its name.” He drops the bags, toes off his shoes, and reaches behind him to fist the back of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head in one easy move.
My mouth goes dry, my heart racing as his glorious chest and abs come into view.
As his hands drop to the button of his jeans, the book character takes over my body, shucking off my clothes with a self-confidence I wish I shared.
Soon we stand naked, my heart racing as his heated gaze rakes over my body, leaving licks of fire everywhere it touches. “You’re so gorgeous, babe.”
His cock bobs in excitement, thick and erect and wanting me.
“You are, too,” I say, sounding breathless and flirty. It no longer matters if it’s the heroine speaking, because the words are also mine. Even if I prefer the weredragon, I find Luke gorgeous no matter his form.
