“I’ll teach you to ride.”
Those words, in that voice…
Jesus, take the wheel.
His hand is still on my waist. My breathing feels shallow, my whole body coursing with heat.
I bite my lip. “Okay. But only if you promise to take it easy on me.”
Now it’s his turn to lean in close. His hand slides down another inch, resting on my hip.
If he goes another inch past that to my ass, I think I’ll spontaneously combust.
“Promise I’ll break you in nice and gentle,” he murmurs. “At first.”
His fingers squeeze lightly before his hand drops away.
Beaten at my own damn game.
This guy is trouble in the worst way.
And the best way, too.
CHAPTER 7
Ocean Eyes
The next morning, I’m standing in Patterson’s Hardware, watching Luke compare two different grades of wood stain with the intense focus most men reserve for playoff games.
The siding project uncovered dry rot along the back wall—because of course there’s no such thing as a simple fix.
Somehow Luke’s “I’ll take care of it” turned into “We should go pick out materials together.”
Which is how I’ve ended up here, pushing a shopping cart through aisles of power tools and paint samples.
The store smells like sawdust. Classic country songs play tinnily from overhead speakers. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
It’s not a romantic place, that’s for sure.
Luke’s got his backwards baseball cap again, along with a soft grey t-shirt and jeans. Today, he’s got a pen tucked behind his ear too. Somehow, he makes the most basic things look lethally sexy.
He’s explaining something about moisture barriers to me.I’m nodding like I’m following along. But mostly I’m just watching the way his hands move as he talks, the way his dark eyebrows knit together in concentration when he gets into the technical details.
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying,” Luke says.
I realize he’s looking right at me, amusement in his gaze.
“I am absolutely listening.”
“Yeah? What did I just say?”
“Something very important about... wood.”
Shaking his head, he goes back to his comparison. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
My heart does a little flip at that casual “you’re cute,” like it’s just a fact, like he’s been thinking it for a while.
“So which one?” I ask, trying to refocus.
