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Her smooth laugh radiates through my hut as she fills the bucket with water. “I’m glad you feel better.” I hop to my chair. “Here you go.” She places the bucket in front of me and stands up. “Sorry, I need to go to work. I’m in a show tonight. Will you be okay? I can have the doctor come by to check on you.”
To cover my disappointment, I unwrap another cookie and shove it in my mouth. I swallow and shake my head. “No need for the doc. My foot is already feeling better. Thanks for taking care of me.” I hold up the couple cookies left in my hand. “And of course, these.” She walks down the stairs to her boat. “Wait, do you know who makes these?”
She bites her bottom lip. “I might.”
“Can you beg them for the recipe?”
She chuckles as she steps into her boat. “I’ll see what I can do, Ball Boy.”
Chapter Eight
Ryker
“Come here often?” I joke as Aspen rows up to my deck. My pulse races with anticipation when our gaze meets. It catches me off guard. It’s a foreign reaction toward a woman.
This morning, my foot felt better, so I went for a run, but I pushed it too much toward the end. The last thing I need is to return injured. I figured soaking it in the pool would help loosen it up.
“It seems I do.” She lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just coming by to check on you.”
I have half a mind to tell her it still hurts, so she feels bad enough to hang out with me today. I’d take a pity visit, but that would make me an asshole. “It’s good. Seems the doctor was right, I’ll live.”
A flicker of hesitation crosses her face. She twists her lips. Finally, she says, “I saw you out here so I thought I’d ask. Want to go for a ride?”
It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to jump up and dive headfirst into the canoe. Hell yeah, I want to go. “That depends…” She arches a brow and waits for me to continue. “… as long as there’s no shagging.”
The words leave a sour taste on my lips, but when it makes her smile in amusement, it makes it worth it.
“I can’t make any promises.”
I freeze as I’m getting out of the water, momentarily speechless. My gaze darts to hers.
She snorts out a laugh and covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my! I did not mean for that to come out that way.”
I hold up my hands, smiling. “Whiskey, no matter how hard you try, it’s a no.” I’ve never told a bigger lie. Not even admitting the weed was mine compares to this, because if she asks, I would pleasure her for fucking hours. Hours.
She’s still laughing when I step into the canoe. “Just ignore me. Trying to sound cool backfired.”
She has no idea how hot she looks right now. There’s nothing fake about her, and I love that. “I think you’re cool, no need to try. So, where are we going?”
“I somehow missed a box for my deliveries this morning, so I need to go by my house to pick them up.”
“Whiskey, this is a million-dollar view.”
I thought the view to the Hudson River from my condo, back in New York City, was amazing, but it pales in comparison to this. I spin around from the double sliding glass door and glance around the studio-sized home. The kitchen takes up more than a third of the space, looking out of place. Especially the three mismatched ovens against one wall.
“My dad built my home. And he knew I loved to bake, so he created a kitchen big enough that I could run my business out of it.”
I turn to where she’s sitting on her couch, watching me, and tilt my chin. “Your business?” Jesus, what else does this woman do? Her carefree laugh draws me to her. Every. Time. I step over to the couch and sit on the opposite end. Twisting my body to face her, I spread my arm against the back.
She bites her lip, and I watch it roll out of her teeth. Sexy as hell even when she’s not trying. My eyes flash up to hers when she asks, “You know those cookies you love so much?”
The shock of discovery excites me. The random ovens and the long white box on her counter. It all makes sense. “You make those?” Her face brightens with a quick nod. “Is that why you always smell like sugar?” An intense desire to taste her, to know if she tastes like vanilla runs through my veins.
She’s my poison. Whiskey and sugar.
Each second I’m around her, I take in a little more, except I'm not able to get enough. I should run away from this woman, her toxic mixture will be my undoing. But I can’t. What scares me the most, I don’t care.
My fingertips are inches away from her shoulder, the thin strap of her white tank top has fallen to the side. I reach over and drag it up her silky tan skin, resting it on top. Every nerve ending in my body spikes to attention.
