“Wouldyouhave still become a rancher if it weren’t for your family?”
A barely-there smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We’re not talkin’ about me right now. Answer the question, Remington.”
My heart is in my throat, and my ears are ringing. “I… Actually, I don’t know.”
“So then, why do you want to become captain?” he asks. “Put all the expectations aside, and think about it.”
“You sound like my chief.” I sigh heavily, trying to keep my tone light even though I’d rather do anything than have this conversation.
The clock is ticking, and I know I’m running out of time to give Chief Daniels my final answer, but it’s like there’s a roadblock in my mind, refusing to allow me to figure it out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or why this is so difficult. Orwhy having Gentry ask me the very same thing makes me feel so…exposed. And not in a fun way.
“How about we get back to the reason we’re here,” I say, nodding toward the mess in Gentry’s hands. “What’s goin’ on there?”
His jaw tightens as he looks down. “It’s doin’ the same shit it did last time,” he grumbles. “I don’t know why this is so fuckin’ hard.”
A smile tugs at my mouth, and I’m on my feet before I can stop it. Heat pools in my belly the closer I get to him, knowing how intense his proximity felt, and how affected he was bymyproximity last time.
“Let me help you,” I murmur softly. Coming up behind him, I place my hands over his, a jolt of electricity sparking between us. Gentry exhales sharply, his shoulders tense, and I can’t help but wonder if he felt it too.
My hands slide over his, guiding his thumbs inward. Clay sticks to our fingers, cool and wet, but the warmth coming from his body bleeds through, and it’s all I can focus on. I apply more pressure, and his breath catches, just once before he corrects himself. The sound lands squarely in my gut. The room suddenly feels too small as the wheel hums, and the temperature too warm. Sweat beads along my hairline, a layer of goosebumps prickling my flesh.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “Feel how it responds?”
Gentry’s shoulders relax. He leans back a fraction, enough to feel his body press ever so slightly into my chest. His scent surrounds me, leather and pine, and something else entirely that’s all him. My mouth waters, and my eyelids flutter as I inhale deeply, wanting to catalog the scent to memory. Our hands continue to mold the clay together, the air between us charged. Gentry knows exactly what he’s doing. There’s no way he doesn’t.
What’s running through his head right now?
My heart gallops, ready to take off in a frenzy. How can something as innocent as pottery—something I’ve done for years and taught for almost as long—feel so…sensual? My body is tuned in to every part of him. His shallow breaths, the way his hair feels against my cheek, how his fingers move effortlessly with mine. All of it is heady and too much, and I desperately want to know if he feels it too. Tilting his head, Gentry peers up at me. His pupils are blown wide, making his chocolaty eyes appear black. A rush of heat zips down my spine, settling low in my groin.
“You this thorough with all your students?” he asks, voice full of gravel.
Swallowing thickly, I murmur, “Not usually.”
His gaze drops to my mouth before coming back up again. It happens so fast that, had I not been so focused on him, I would’ve missed it entirely. And his hands falter, making the clay wobble. I should step back. Put some distance between us and correct his posture. Get back on track.
I don’t do any of that.
Instead, my fingers tighten instinctively, steadying both the clay and Gentry. The touch is, once again, electric. It’s too much and, somehow, not enough. It’severything. I can’t breathe, my lungs squeezing and my heart racing, especially when Gentry’s eyes flick up to mine again, and I see the desire I’m feeling reflecting back at me.
The air around us thickens, and everything in the room vanishes.
“Then why take such a special interest in me?” Gentry rasps as he turns, slow and deliberate, the clay forgotten altogether.
I drag my tongue across my lips, hoping to bring some moisture back to my mouth. My pulse roars in my ears as my mind attempts to make sense of what’s happening. Because fromwhere I’m standing, it looks like Gentry’s giving me an opening. Like he wants me to make a move.
But that can’t be right… Can it?
Only one way to find out.
“You know why,” I mutter before crashing my lips against his.
Gentry’s mouth meets mine with intention. There’s no hesitation between us, no softness to ease us into it. It’s heat and hunger, full of fervor, like he’s been thinking about this kiss for as long as I have. I groan before I can stop myself, the sound swallowed by Gentry’s mouth as he stands and fights me for control.
Clay-slicked fingers slide under my shirt, anchoring me and pulling me closer until there’s nothing left between us but hot breath and pure need. Fisting the front of his shirt, I walk us backward until his ass hits the counter in front of the room. How we make it over here without knocking anything over is beyond me. Gentry spins us until it’s me propped on the edge of the counter.
My hand slides to the back of his neck, nestling my fingers through his thick, dark strands. Tilting his head, he deepens the kiss as my other hand rolls down his back and over his ass, grabbing a fistful and pulling him closer. This time, it’s him groaning, and I lose what little restraint I had left. I’m drunk on Gentry. The taste of him on my tongue, the way he melts into me, and the way his body answers mine without either of us saying a word.
The kiss is messy, and overwhelming, and so fucking perfect. Made even better when he rolls his hips, and I feel it… He’s hard. I gasp when he grinds his erection against me, the knowledge that he’s as into this as I am lighting a fire inside me. I’m lost in him. Nothing else matters. Not the wet clay now covering ourclothes, not the fact that he’s my best friend’s dad and I probably shouldn’t be doing this.
