Page 30 of Duke
Goddamn, I like how this girl makes me laugh. “If you’re sayin’ this is my last night on earth…”
“Nah.” She throws me a hot look over her shoulder as she unzips her jacket. “I need you to drive me back down the mountain for my trunk show. After that, though, all bets are off.”
“I best get to drinking, then. Might as well enjoy my last twenty-four hours on earth.” I saunter across the room to help her out of her jacket. “How ’bout we get comfortable? I’ll get that bag of wine ready for slapping, and I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re hungry.”
I don’t miss the way she shivers as my thumbs graze the nape of her neck. When she turns around, I see her nipples poking through the fine knit of her sweater.
Her eyes catch on mine. My body pulses. Those eyes move to my mouth, and for a wild heartbeat, I think—
Hell, is this girl gonna kiss me?
“No,” she blurts, looking away. “I mean yes. Yes, I’m hungry. Let me get out of these clothes—”
Dear God.
“—and I’ll join you.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “Great.”
“Great.”
I don’t feel great as I head out of the room with a half-hard dick. Which is why I choose a bedroom in the basement, as far away from Wheeler’s as possible. No risk of any nighttime run-ins this way.
If I see Wheeler in any kind of cute pajama situation—I’m imagining one of those nightie things with teeny-tiny straps and lace, nothing underneath it—I just might fling myself off the side of this mountain. End it all, because I can’t stand not taking the woman to bed.
I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. My eyes burn inside my head like two balls of hellfire, so I take a deep breath, take out my contacts, and put on my glasses, praying like hell Wheeler thinks they look less dorky than I do. Then I head back upstairs.
Getting snowed in with a smart, funny, ambitious, beautiful woman was not part of the plan. But here we are.
CHAPTER 8
She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain
Wheeler
I head into the living room and promptly draw up short.
Duke is facing away from me, crouched in front of the fireplace. His hoodie draws taut over his shoulder blades and back as he makes quick work of building a fire in the massive fireplace.
I watch, transfixed by the bunch and release of his shoulder muscles. Exactlyhowdoes he fill out that sweatshirt so damn well? This cowboy is thick, solid, in a way few men are.
The logs crackle and pop as the fire grows.
I feel the throb between my thighs grow too. Allowing myself to be honest for a second, I have to admit that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The ride today was nerve-racking, sure, but it was also a lot of freaking fun. Duke is excellent company. He’s also a gentleman. I kept offering to drive, but he waved me off, even though I knew he had to be tired. Even though he joked about not having time for stops, he made sure I was comfortable, asking several times if I needed a bathroom or stretch break.
I’ll only drink a little bit. One glass of wine. Two tops. Surely we’ll be ready to go to bed by then, right?
Go to ourseparatebeds.
“Hey,” Duke says.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying very hard to ignore the way my nipples tingle at the sound of his voice.
“Hey. Hi. Since you’re, um, busy with that, why don’t I make the grilled cheese?”
He’s still crouching, elbows on his knees as he glances at me over his shoulder. “I got it.”
Oh, dear sweet Jesus. The man is wearing glasses.
