Brush.
Glossy.
Brush.
He knows what he’s doing. Like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like he could do it in his sleep.
He brings the table’s grain to life and puts on the finishing touches. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a gorgeous, handmade piece. Whoever he’s making it for is lucky.
I swallow hard. I need to ask him to zip my dress. But that table...
It’s so wet.
And so am I.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to form words right now. I never thought a guy doing manual labor was my thing, but this changes everything.
Blue-collar wet dream.
Brookhaven wet dream.
There’s something about watching him that reminds me Gabriel knows more than how to use his hands for pleasure. He doesn’t sit at an office, typing on a computer all day, sending emails to make his living. He’s using his hands. Cutting boards. Banging nails.Applying epoxy.
I shake my head, ducking away from the window feeling embarrassed and grateful I didn’t get caught. Sure, it’s not enough to stop watching, but enough to pretend I have some self-control.
But I don’t.
Not really.
Not when I’m taking a deep breath and telling myself tojust do it.And not when I’m stepping outside with my dress half-zipped, my bare back completely exposed to the bite of the cold. And not when I push my tits higher in the corset style bodice, adjusting the hem just enough to be borderline trashy to try to get his attention.
The air is sharp against my freshly washed skin, and it smells like more snow is coming. His eyes find me instantly, cutting through the cold air like a brand.
His smile is easy at first, warm like he’s happy to see me out here. Then his focus shifts as he sets down the brush he was using and realizes what I’m wearing. His gaze runs over me, lingering a little too long at my chest and then finally, at my heels.
His eyes narrow slightly.
“Wow.” His voice is rich. He rubs at the beard covering his jaw. It was just enough friction to make everything better when he was between my legs, but not too much to lose the strength in his handsome jawline. “Why are you all dressed up?”
I swallow. I hope this isn’t awkward. It shouldn’t be. We agreed it was just a one-time thing. We haven’t even seen each other in two weeks. Plus, I’m only here, he’s only seeing me tonight all dressed up, because I had nowhere else to stay while my house doesn’t have electricity.
“I… I have plans tonight.”
His hands drop to his hips, head tilting slightly as he assesses me carefully.
“Plans,” he repeats. This time his voice isn’t soft and there’s a distinct, displeased edge to it.
I nod. “I have a date.”
His jaw flexes. His fingers skim over the beard on his chin, eyes heated like he’s turning those words over in his head.
“You have a date.” He says it slowly, testing the words on his tongue. “A Valentine’s Day date?”
“Yes,” I say, standing taller, aiming for confident and unbothered. “I do. I planned it last night. With your cousin.”
Why did I include that?I don’t need to explain myself.
“I see.” His voice is even, but there’s something unspoken beneath the words that tells me he isn’t pleased.
