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“Yeah, you too. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, and we’ll aim to be back once the snow has cleared in a couple of days.”
We say our goodbyes, and by the time I hang the phone up, I’m squirming beneath the weight of this man’s stare.
He’s stripped out of his outdoor gear to reveal a faded denim shirt pushed to his elbows. Those jeans he wears the hell out of are far too easy to appreciate up close.
Lucas Rhodes has reached his forties but is the epitome of a man who could easily pass for much younger than that. It’s only the dusting of gray at his temples, the salt-and-pepper beard, matched with a sexy white streak that has always curled through the front of his disheveled hair that belies his age.
I’ve swooned over that rogue lock of white amongst the longer dark strands falling across his forehead for more years than I can remember.
“Let me take your coat.” His voice comes out husky, and I swear to god my knees buckle a little.
He steps around to stand behind me, and our height difference is marked at this proximity. I barely reach the man’s chest, even in my heeled boots.
I’m a curvy girl with thick thighs, a soft stomach, and tits I wish were bigger to give me more of an hourglass shape. I know how to dress in order to feel myself, yet no matter what, there’s no disguising the fact that I’m short.
Standing with this man at my back, I feel dwarfed by his size. He’s thick chested. Broad and muscled. The kind of steadiness to him that is a constant reminder of how strong and sturdy he is, with absolutely no interest in being cut or showing off.
This is a man who has a body capable of hard graft and days on end working with his horses and the land.
God, I’ve got to get my ovaries under control and stop drooling over this cowboy.
Only, he keeps making it nearly impossible to do so. Strong fingers hook beneath my coat collar as I undo the buttons. And that’s when I remember.
The outfit I’ve got on underneath.
CHAPTER 7
Holy shit.
The soft wool of Skylar’s black coat gives way, allowing me to peel it off her shoulders.
I mean, this girl has a figure to fucking crawl across hot coals for, and I don’t know how the fuck we’ve ended up here, but I say a silent curse.
She’s fucking stunning, and what she’s wearing … Well, if I wasn’t already battling an erection, I damn well am now.
My gaze should not be roaming everywhere at once like I’ve never laid eyes on a woman before, but I can’t fucking help it. Her black leather skirt barely covers her lush ass, with sheer black tights skimming down those thighs I want to squeeze until she whimpers for me. Her top is also black, but you wouldn’t know it because the damn thing is entirely see-through, and from here, I can already see the thin strap and clasp reaching across her spine that tells me she’s only wearing a bra underneath.
I’m not sure I’m gonna survive the moment this girl turns around, and I see how her tits are showcased beneath that tempting layer of sheer fabric.
Beneath the long sleeve of her cropped top—if you could even call it a top—are the colorful designs I’ve only ever dared to sneak small glimpses of in the times I’ve been in the same room as her. The adult version of my son’s best friend.
After Skylar went off to art college with Brad, she started sporting more and more ink each time she returned to Crimson Ridge during the holidays.
Like everything with this girl, the tattoos are hot, she’s hot, and now that I can glimpse them up close, I see there’s a mix of florals and colors and patterns tracking from the curve of her shoulders down to her wrists. I want to ask her about what kind of meaning they hold for this dichotomy of a girl. Who wears her hair the color of sweet fairy floss and favors chunky black boots.
Skylar has grown into a woman who is a whole lot of gorgeous and a mystery at the same time.
“Help yourself to a drink. You know where everything is.” I practically choke out the words. Do not keep staring at her ass. “I’ll hang your coat up and drop your bags upstairs … Same room as always, yeah?”
She turns her chin to peek back at me over one shoulder, all heavy lashes and pretty pink lips. “Thanks, Mr. Rhodes.”
My cock fucking leaps to life. “Just Luke is fine. Probably should have pulled you up on that years ago.”
“Okay.” There’s that same breathiness in her voice again. “Can I get you a drink, too?”
Yup. Just hand me the entire goddamn bottle at this point.
“Sure. Whiskey’s good for me,” I say, taking the opportunity to busy myself with mundane things like hanging her coat and depositing her bag upstairs and trying my best to avoid thinking about the fact I’m going to be stuck in this house with Skylar, alone.
