The moment he had my eyes, he shared, “Glad you think I’m handsome, baby girl. As long as you keep thinking that I’ll be golden. Yeah?”
Then, for some stupid reason, I blurted, “I don’t think you're handsome. I think you're gorgeous.”
Alcohol. Hangover. Loosened inhibitions.
Yeah. We’ll blame it on that.
A slow smile spread across his face, “That right?”
I shrugged.
He threw his head back and laughed.
He shouldn’t have done that.
Because at the sight of his throat... my tongue... his skin... that vein... I had to squeeze my thighs together a-freaking-gain.
This man was lethal.
“I need to go,” I rushed out.
He shook his head.
I lifted a brow, “Why not?”
“Cause I’m sure you got a headache and a queasy stomach after last night. And I’m gonna feed you,” he said as he stood up.
“Umm, you don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Don’t have to. But I’m fucking going to.” He said.
I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “Do you always get your way?”
He chuckled as he stepped closer to me, and when he did, I inhaled.
Oh. My.
Musk. Irish spring. And something that had to be all Grey.
I wanted to step closer, bury my face in his chest, and breathe in deeply.
Apparently... I wasn’t the only one, because I just watched his chest expand with a large inhale of breath.
As I looked up in his eyes, he winked, “Like that, you smell like me, baby girl.”
Fuck.
I narrowed my eyes up at him.
Then I asked, “Do you have to be so tall?”
He grinned then licked his bottom lip, “Think about it this way, I’ll be there to reach the high shit that you can’t.”
“You’ll be there, huh?” I asked.
He stepped even closer and then nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”
Before I could articulate a response to that, he reached around to his back pocket and pulled out a blue and white baseball cap.
