Page 5 of The Golden Hour

“Because I want to invite you back to my motel, but twenty-one is too young for me. Same age as my baby sister.”

Grace blinks rapidly. “I’m twenty-five. Twenty-six next month.”

A smile tugs my lips and her gaze dips to my mouth. She swallows hard and her lips part. My mouth waters. I can already taste her.

Game on.

I stand up and walk down the bar until we face each other. Vaguely, I realize my body doesn’t hurt anymore. Like an addict, I’ve relaxed because relief is coming. And I know this fix is going to give me what I need and then some.

Turning on the charm to lethal levels, I smile broadly and offer her my hand. “Hi. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before. I’m Finnegan McCowen, because apparently my parents didn’t think the last name alone was Scottish enough. But everyone calls me Finn.”

It works. Her lips twitch, eyes alighting with humor. “Nice to meet you, Finn.”

After a small hesitation, her palm slides against mine. My fingers curl, greedily soaking in the feel of her soft, warm skin. My hand dwarfs hers, as I know my body will. I can’t stop staring at the contrast of masculine to feminine, large to petite, and it makes me feel weirdly protective. Like I should warn her off from me.

I squash the thought—I fucking need her.

Looking up, I find a similar expression of want on her face and feel like shouting in victory.

“Come home with me.”

Her pulse beats madly beneath the nearly translucent skin of her throat. I want to nip that trapped flutter of life. Suck it. Roll it between my teeth.

She stares at me, dark eyes glistening with a heady mixture of surprise and lust. I want to ask if she’s ever felt this kind of instant, intense attraction, but I’m sober enough not to. No use giving her any ideas about seeing me past tonight.

Though I’m expecting a nervous laugh and some version of I’ve never done anything like this before, she blows my mind by simply nodding.

“I’m almost done closing.”

Her hand leaves mine, robbing my fingers of her warmth. A moment later, a rag hits my chest. I catch it instinctively.

“Make yourself useful, will you? Wipe down the tables and clear that booth.”

When the words register, a rusty chuckle emerges from my chest. Another surprise. Snow White has spunk.

I give her an exaggerated bow. “I’m your willing servant.”

She smiles fully for the first time, and in my lust-filled haze I decide I wouldn’t mind making her smile every day forever. It transforms her from ethereal to mischievous. And far sexier than any woman has a right to be.

I want her with a whole-body intensity that scares me.

Grace tilts her head, brows drawing together in a cute little frown. “Maybe you should get some sleep instead?” she asks, and my mind is wiped of everything but the drive to peel off her clothes with my teeth.

“Hell no.”

I hustle across the room, grinning at the sound of her tinkling laughter following me.

4

True to his word, Finn does everything I ask him to for the next twenty minutes, including taking the trash to the dumpster out back. I’m sure it’s because he thinks he’s getting laid, which should bother me.

I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t.

Maybe it’s that for all his self-assurance and practiced charm, he has kind eyes. Honest eyes. And where I come from, that’s exceedingly rare to find in a man with a face and body like his.

I haven’t felt this reckless—or free—in my life. And really, why shouldn’t I let loose for a night? There’s no one here to judge me. Punish me. Drag me through hell as penance for daring to have fun. For attempting to be a normal woman.

I’ve been celibate for over two years, more due to circumstance than choice, and I miss being touched. Besides, when’s the next time an opportunity like this will land in my lap?

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