Page 27 of Connor

“Um, I…” I stutter as I step forward and grab on to the side of the door panel as my cheeks start to flame in embarrassment. I haven’t been in a truck like this before, and I have no idea how to climb up into it while trying to remain well put together. Thank God, I didn’t wear a dress tonight, because the chances of me falling on my butt are extremely high. Now I’m regretting the jeans I put on as well, because they’re somewhat restrictive. Activewear would have been perfect for this. Although not suitable for a work dinner.

While I’m flexible, due to years of yoga, my legs are short and stocky, and my upper body strength isn’t great, so I’m not entirely sure I can pull myself up into his truck.

“Problem?” he asks, like I’m deliberately causing an issue, and I look at him, frowning. His brow furrows in confusion.

“Yes, there’s a problem,” I start, disguising my embarrassment in slight anger and completely directing it at him. “How is any woman supposed to get up into this monstrosity of a truck?”

“It’s not a monstrosity. It’s the latest model,” he grits out.

“Potato, potahto,” I quip, because it doesn’t matter, the issue is the same.

His frown deepens as he looks at me, then looks at the truck, and back again.

“The girls brought me a stepladder as a joke, but now it would probably be useful.”

“Girls?” I ask and internally cringe because that came out too fast. It also isn’t any of my business. Of course a man like Connor has girls. Multiple. God, I bet he satisfies every single one of them.Probably simultaneously.

“Lacy and Victoria.”

I breathe out, trying to will my insides to stop having a disco in my stomach. When I searched Connor online, he had a myriad of women on his arms over the years, but I couldn’t see any information on a permanent female in his life. I know he isn’t married and doesn’t have any children, the woman from the football game the other night clearly not anyone to him either, not that any of that should be of any concern to me.

“Here,” he says, then grabs my waist and hoists me into the air and onto the seat. It happens so quickly that I don’t have time to register what’s going on before I’m seated in his truck and not sure I have the capacity to breathe. His soft leather seats are comfortable on my backside, and there’s so much leg room, I feel like I can swing my legs. I’m so high up, I look down on everything. Except him. We’re now eye to eye.

“You alright?” he asks, the frown gone and replaced with a small smirk that I want wiped off his face immediately. He’s clearly taking too much enjoyment out of seeing my embarrassment as I sit, dumbfounded, a few feet up in the air.

“I… ahhhh, um, I mean… sure. Thank you.” My mind swirls in disbelief, throat feeling dry, my cheeks flamed. No one has ever lifted me before. Never in my life has anyone even attempted. I can’t remember my parents lifting me as a kid, with me being a bigger girl ever since I made it to double digits. Now, in a matter of a few seconds, Connor not only attempted, but succeeded in lifting me from the ground like I weighed nothing more than a matchstick. I look at him still standing on the ground at my open door, watching me. He isn’t panting or sweating, doesn’t look like it was hard work or exhausting. He isn’t moaning about a sore back.

“Don’t forget your seat belt.” He slams the door closed, and I grab my seat belt and buckle in tight. Running around the truck to his side, he jumps in with complete ease, and I huff.

As we drive out, it’s silent for a moment, before he asks, “So how do you feel about coming to Whispers?”

Is this a loaded question? Is he testing me? Are we making small talk right now? I look out the window and think carefully about my answer. The view is beautiful here. Rolling hills on one side, the large distillery on the other. Nothing but crisp, green pastures and clean air, and now that we’re moving, I relax a little. There’s something about Connor that makes me want to be completely honest with him, so I just go with that.

“So far, so good. I find it odd that someone like you calls this town home…”

He leans one arm on his door, the other gripping the wheel, the veins in his arms popping out every now and then as he turns this large truck with ease onto the road. I wasn’t sure I had a thing for arms before now. But at this moment, I’m wondering what they would feel like around my naked body.

“Someone like me?” he asks, and I roll my lips to keep from smiling.

“Well, it’s just that, you’re so… tidy,” I say and almost cringe.

“Tidy?”

“Tall, big… well… maintained.” I slam my lips shut, wondering if I could be more awkward.

“Is that a compliment? Are you complimenting me, Daisy?” he teases, and I roll my eyes.

“Just… I figure you would be more of a city guy,” I say, wishing I just started with that benign fact, as my cheeks heat. I turn my head to look out the window, but not before noticing his grin.

“Well, Whispers is pretty well maintained, so I like it here.” He lets me off the hook. “So that there is called Marie’s Place. Victoria owns it. Not sure if she told you about it?”

I shake my head while looking through the trees at what seems to be a beautiful white farmhouse with a large, new-looking red shed out back.

“No, she didn’t mention it,” I tell him, and he clears his throat.

“She’s from New York, was left the place by her aunt when she passed, and moved here to remodel it.”

I did see on the briefing paper they sent through that Victoria was managing the fit-out of the spa, so it all makes sense.

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