Page 11 of That One Night
He nodded. “I do.”
She swallowed hard. “Thanks for not laughing at me. Too much.”
He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “Give it time. I’m just working up to it.”
They stared at each other for a beat too long. Something flickered between them, something hot and inconvenient. But before she could think on it anymore, he turned to mount his bike. “I should go. Frank has a taste for Victoria’s Secret, apparently.”
“Frank?” she repeated.
“The goat. I inherited him with the place. He’s a jerk.”
She laughed, despite herself. “You’re telling me.”
He kicked the bike into gear, the engine snarling beneath him. “See you around, Emery.”
She watched him ride away, shirtless, dust trailing behind him like a damn movie scene.
Her pulse was still racing. Her body still buzzing.
And her stupid list was burning a hole in her mind.
Taking a deep breath, Emery tugged at the t-shirt he’d given her and turned to walk home.
That was definitely an interesting way to tick off number one.
Chapter
Four
What the hellwas wrong with him?
Hendrix dragged Frank back up the lane toward his cottage, closing the gate firmly behind him even though he knew his goat could bust out again in a minute if he wanted to.
The billy had been exactly where Hendrix knew he’d be. Leaning over the fence by Logan’s field, posturing like a hormonal teenager trying to impress the nanny goats. Who, for the record, looked deeplyunimpressed.
Kind of like Emery Reed, when she’d caught him checking her out.
He hadn’t seen her in years, not since she was that girl in high school who always had her nose in a book or was scribbling in a notepad for the school paper. She’d been a couple of years younger than him. One of the good girls, pretty and studious, and he’d never given her the time of day.
Now? She was all grown up. All curves and flushed skin and wide brown eyes that any man would have to drag his eyes away from.
Okay, not any man. Him. And he didn’t drag his eyes. Not fast enough, anyway. He could still remember how soft andsmooth her skin had looked, how her breasts swelled behind her arm as she tried to give herself some dignity.
How her stomach was taut, her hips flaring out as her body disappeared into her open cut offs.
She’s engaged, asshole.
Yeah, he’d noticed that too. His eyes had gone straight to the ring, even while she was yelling at him to stop staring.
He vaguely remembered hearing something about her being with Trenton Montclair, one of the group of rich assholes he’d known in school. The kind of supercilious, smug piece of shit who treated everyone like they were beneath him.
Hendrix wrinkled his nose as he walked back to the cottage, Frank plodding behind him like he hadn’t just wrecked the afternoon. Halfway up the road he’d discovered Emery’s shredded black tank top and her lacy panties, the latter still mostly intact.
Of course Frank had saved the panties. Freaking pervert. His mouth dried as he looked at them.
They were little more than a scrap of lace, with a tiny bow at the front. He had to blink away the image of her wearing them.
And nothing else.
