Maddox’s brow furrows as he stares down at the grass as if it holds all the answers we’re looking for.
If only.
A cooling breeze drifts over the green blades, reminding me there is something missing from this scene.
“Where’s your goat?” The little mangey menace should be nibbling my skirts by now.
“He is sleeping in the stables. I had to help Ever at the bridge at dawn and did not want my Biscuits to be lonely. When I returned, I did not have the heart to wake him.”
How sweet. Maddox would make an excellent father.
Assuming he wants children.
Maybe I should ask him.
A terrible idea. I don’t need to ask that question because the answer does not and will not ever pertain to me.
My feelings and I should return home. The sad wine in my stomach sloshes around when I stand. “I need to go.” Before I say something I’ll inevitably regret. We’re at a good place, Maddox and me. We might even become genuine friends after this.
My announcement brings a frown to his face. “Then who will help me open the next bottle?”
True. Wouldn’t want him to accidentally cut himself while trying to open it. If he struck an artery, he could bleed out and die.
Friends don’t let friends die.
One more drink, then it’s back to the cottage before I make a complete and utter fool of myself. Or worse, before I accidentally tell him that I’m starting to find him wickedly attractive.
“Go on, then. Let’s see you try.”
He glances around the porch, then scans the ground. “Where is the wine-yay?”
Here I didn’t think he could be more attractive. “You mean the corkscrew? I gave it back to you.”
Didn’t I?
Heavens, I can’t even remember. I stand in case it fell into the cushion beside me, but it’s not there. Maddox slips off the steps and bends down to check beneath his wagon.
There it is! “Behind you.”
He spins in a circle.
“No, it’s . . .” Oh, sod it. I stumble forward and drag the corkscrew from his back pocket. “Here. Be sure to remove this cork before you try to open the next bottle.” Best to be thorough when giving advice. Perhaps I’ll write a book on opening wine next.
Actually, no. I should write one on hownotto fall for handsome Unseelie warriors. Then I’ll read it every night before bed.
Step One: Don’t let your gaze linger on his muscles, no matter how many abdominals he has. And don’t ever,everlet yourself start counting them, because there might be eight, and that’s a large number, isn’t it? Too many, really.
Step Two: Don’t look at his arms, because then you’ll want to lick them.
His tongue peeks between his teeth as he concentrates on inserting the corkscrew into the center of the cork.
Step Three: Don’t think about his tongue, not even when you remember that an Unseelie tongue has a rough, sandpaper-like texture. And don’t ever,everwonder what that would feel like dragging over your body.
Maddox glances up at me from beneath his lashes, his expression so earnest, my heart begins to ache. “Yay?”
I look again at the corkscrew, seeing the metal arms up in the air. “Yay,” I agree with a chuckle.
Bottle clasped between his knees, he pushes down the arms, twists a few more times, presses them down again, and out comes the cork with apop.
