"I understand," he chuckles. "We're not logging, as in chopping everything down. We're going through methodically, removing dead trees or anything that's about to fall soon. Then we're selecting the most valuable trees for use in furniture."
"You're doing this all yourselves?"
"Yeah." He gives a half shrug as he turns onto my street. "We don't trust anyone else to do it right. Plus, we were all sick of our day jobs."
He grows quiet for a moment. "And of course we moved back to be with Mom. So we need something to do in Oakton now."
"I heard about your Dad. I'm sorry."
He nods. "Thanks."
We roll into my driveway, and I watch Dash's face as he examines the tiny house that's three steps away from officially being a shack. "Not exactly a palace," I shrug.
"This is where you live?"
I expect him to say something about it being unfit for human use. "Yeah."
"Then a princess lives here. That makes it a palace to me."
We slip off our seatbelts to face each other. I can't bring myself to leave the truck. The rain has slowed to a slight sprinkle, pattering on the metal roof.
Dash smiles at me. "Maybe you should wait in here for just another minute so that you don't get soaked to the skin."
We both move closer, our bodies shifting as if pulled by an unseen magnetic force. His arm stretches out along the back of the seat as his fingers play with a piece of my hair. "Bridget, I haven't dated anyone in a really long time. I know what people probably say about how I used to be. I'm different now."
"People change," I say softly.
"Yep." He moves closer, his fingertips dancing just under my ear. "And I realized, after some self-reflection on the drive to work, coincidentally this very morning, that there are very specific things I'm looking for in a woman."
It's getting harder to breathe as we both inch closer.
"Beautiful, obviously," he says, waving a hand toward my head, then down to my knees. "But also, clever and interesting and sweet." His thumb brushes my cheek. "Bridget, there's a sweetness about you that I've never felt before. You're also so incredibly sexy that it's killing me not to touch you right now."
Maintaining a regular pattern of breathing is proving more difficult than coordinating strumming and fretting a G-chord atthe same time. He thinks I'm sexy? That's so wild I can't quite believe it.
"Promise me you won't listen to any more gossip about the old me?" His eyes search mine. Is there a hint of desperation there?
"Of course." I smile. "I like to think I'm wired to see mostly the good in people."
He leans closer. "Even when I want to be bad, like right now?"
Time stops. My breath freezes. Dash's fingertips brush across my cheekbone, under my earlobe and down my throat, making me shiver.
Just as my eyes drift closed, knowing that he's about to kiss me…he doesn't. His lips miss mine by a hair, grazing my cheek, then drifting up my temple. My heartbeat echoes in my ears so loud that I wonder if he can actually hear it. His one hand presses over mine on my knee, as the other tangles in the back of my hair, gently holding my head still.
His warmth, his confidence, his unbelievable sexy magnetism… somehow all rational thought dissolves. This teasing is making my hips shift, thighs brushing together as I can't keep still. He kisses along my cheekbone again, and as my lips turn to meet his, he barely brushes his lips against mine, still not quite a kiss. Choking back a whimper, I flip my hand to hold his.
"I want you," he whispers. "Do you want me?"
Who wouldn't want him? Not only is he Dash-freaking-Oakley, rumored Sex God and Perfect Male Specimen, the man knows how to tease me within an inch of my life. Women on their honeymoon would be tempted. A nun would probably kick her vows to the curb to be with this incredible man.
As an almost twenty-year-old with close to zero experience with men, I already know I'm in way over my head. "Umm. Yes. I think you can tell that I do."
His thumb drifts along the throbbing pulse point at the base of my throat, which places his hand at the top of my chest. It's a relatively innocent touch, yet still leaves me twitching.
Dash jumps back, dropping his hand. "Someone's watching from your window. What's your last name, Bridget?"
My lips part to say Morgan, but I catch myself just in time. "Smith. Why?"
