Page 13 of Country Charm

With her arms filled with books, she walks past me, her cheeks flaming red.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll just set these down in my room.” She heads down the short hallway and disappears into a dark room.

I place the food on the table and drop onto her couch.Damn.It’s soft and just as comfortable as it looked. She has good taste. The whole place smells like her—a clean, fresh, and sweet scent. Although I know I couldn’t live in the city, I wouldn’t mind having a more feminine touch to my house. One that wasn’t my mother’s.

Cassidy emerges from the dark hallway, and she’s out of her denim pants in exchange for some soft shorts. Her legs are long and shapely. They aren’t toothpicks, but they aren’t too big either. Her thighs touch from her apex to just above her knees, and I can see the muscle definition in her quad. My eyes make their way back up to her face,and unlike with Franny, I was most certainly checking Cassidy out. She smiles as she walks in and then sits in the armchair near me, folding those long legs under her… but I know where I’d prefer them.

Damn you, Harrison.

Chapter Nine

Cassidy

Pros to this situation: Hunter is super-hot, not even just a little hot. The hottest man I’ve ever seen. Hunter is driven. Hunter is a family man. Hunter is humble. Hunter is sweet.

Cons to this situation: Hunter might be the kind of guy I could want as a repeater. Hunter lives ninety minutes away… wait. Maybe that’s a pro.

If he’s so far away then I can’t keep seeing him, right? If he’s so far away, I’ll never run into him again. So, no matter what happens here tonight, I might not—no, will not—see him again.

“Dig in, you’re in for a treat,” I say. I grab one of the burgers and take a huge chug from my milkshake. I know when I tell Georgie that I ate this she is going to push me to join her little gym kick.

Hunter reaches in the bag for the other burger, and I pay close attention to his forearms, without being obvious, of course. They are tight and corded with muscles and veins. He looks so sturdy. I don’t know why I imaginedfarmers to be these old guys with potbellies, because Hunter doesn’t look like he has an ounce of fat on him. He’s built like a workhorse. The jeans he's wearing do little to hide his strong legs and what seems to be a healthy package.

Thank you, Lynn.

I watch as he unwraps his food. He brings it to his mouth and with perfect teeth, he bites into it. Who knew eating hamburgers could double as foreplay? Now I feel like the food in front of me is emitting an aphrodisiac.

I watch him chew for a minute before I delve back into my own meal.

“Not bad; mine are better, but this is good,” he says, taking a sip of the milkshake. “This is nothing like the milkshakes on the farm. We have our own fresh milk and ice cream that we use. So, this,” he holds up his cup, “I can’t even say this is good.” He digs back into his burger.

“You cook?” I ask, taking a sip. The man is a fool. This milkshake is heaven. I chug away because I know culinary art when it’s in front of me. This shake is a masterpiece.

“I do. We’ve got so much on the farm available it would be silly to eat out. And there aren’t that many restaurant options out by me. Then there is the added fact that my farm isn’t right next to the square either. So, I would have to clean off after a day’s work and drive into town for a meal I could probably just make at home.” He finishes his food and sits back into my couch.

A man that can cook is like a dream to me. I’m not the best in the kitchen, and a lot of men have these ideas about women being in the kitchen. I like that he can take care of himself. We’re about finished eating our takeout, and when I’m done, I ask for more details.

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?” I know I should stop, but I want to know more about him.

He rubs his stubbled chin for a minute, and I catch the sight of a piece of lettuce caught there. “I’m going to go with fresh fish fry, fresh fries, with some steamed vegetables.” Not a terrible meal choice; I saw him as a steak man. But I guess that’s just as bad a stereotype as a woman in the kitchen.

My eyes laser onto the food stuck on his chin, close to his lips. I look back to his eyes, but now he’s focused on my lips.

“What’s your favorite meal?” he asks.

I stand and cross the small space, then sit in the compact spot he left open next to him. His eyes widen a fraction, and he stills himself.

“I would say I love fried chicken with macaroni and cheese. That would be my dad’s dinner for us on special occasions.” I reach my hand out toward him to grab the lettuce off his face, but Hunter apparently notices and acts.

He grabs my small wrist in his strong hand and pulls me onto him, my face only inches away. He makes quick work of that space too, first gently brushing his lips on mine, testing before diving in. Only a second of the gentle grazing happens before he presses his perfect lips firmly to mine.

I let out a sigh and a small tension held right between my shoulders releases.

My mouth moves against his and his lips start to part.

I reposition myself to straddle him, only breaking our connection for a second. Bringing my lips back to his, he hums in appreciation. I part my lips a little and he takes the cue, sliding his smooth tongue across the seam. My own darts out to tangle with his and we quickly find a rhythm. Our lips move in sync as he slides one hand up my thigh, gripping it tight while the other slides to the nape of my neck under my hair. His hands are calloused from theirconstant use and as they graze me, I feel a trail of goosebumps flit across my skin.

I can feel that healthy bulge in his denim grow beneath me, and I send another silent prayer to Lynn. Seating myself deeper into him, I swivel my hips and moan into his mouth. He groans and lifts his hips.

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