Her glossy lips parted.
That top.
That skirt.
Her ankles.
Her curves.
All those curls in her hair.
That look on her face.
He wanted to kiss her.
And he was going to kiss her.
Because no way he could sell the fact that they’d decided to spend the rest of their lives together without him knowing how she tasted.
So he was going to know how she tasted.
He was going to memorize it.
She pulled her shit together, regrettably, and said, “Rix, you really don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t. So, outside of behaving in bitchy ways, like cutting you out of her wedding shit, is she just a straight-out bitch to you, your sister?”
She pressed her lips together.
The sister was a bitch.
Alex that day, sitting with hard-faced, dead-eyed kids who’d been sent to the middle of nowhere to see if they could locate some thread of themselves to hold on to, unfazed, no fear, poised and attentive, eating shit from some woman who shared her blood.
There was “not close.”
And there was this horseshit.
“Then I really do have to do it,” he stated.
“My family is…they’re…well, it’s hard to explain.”
It wasn’t hard to explain. The look on her face, the fact she couldn’t put it into words, the knowledge that Alex worked at a nonprofit and her sister sent her a dress and goddamned shoes that cost that much said it all.
“Are we friends?” he asked.
She rubbed her lips together a few seconds before she answered, “I think so.”
“We’re friends,” he rumbled.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Oh yeah.
He was gonna taste her.
Their preparation for this gig was gonna be thorough.
They were gonna sell the shit out of it.
“Friends look out for friends,” he pointed out.
“This is asking a lot.”
“Did you ask?”
Her eyes got huge again.
“How pissed is your sister gonna be when I actually show up?” he inquired.
Her gaze traveled him down and up, and that was when her eyes lit, and he could swear he saw a little dimple come and go in her right cheek.
All his life, he’d had women admire him. Hell, he’d lost both legs, and he still had it.
But never in his life had he felt it like he felt it when she said everything about how attractive she thought he was without saying one goddamn word.
Oh yeah.
They were gonna sell the shit out of this.
“I’ll buy your ticket out there,” she offered.
The hell she would.
He turned back to the wine, saying, “We got time to figure it out.”
He then poured her a huge-ass glass.
When he turned to give it to her, he got her big eyes again as she took it.
Good.
That was what he was going for because he liked that look on her.
But she gave him a bonus.
She actually giggled.
It, too, was her. Quiet and it didn’t last long.
But coming from Alex, it was a big deal.
He nabbed his beer and pointed the neck at her.
She lifted her glass to his bottle and caught his eyes.
“Here’s to us, baby,” he whispered. “And our long and happy life together.”
More color hit her cheeks, but she didn’t lose his gaze.
Nope.
That dimple came back.
And this time, as she touched her glass to his bottle, it stayed embedded in her sweet, round, glimmering cheek.
Chapter 7
The Rocks
Alex
I woke up before the alarm went off on my phone.
I was surprised I’d slept at all.
I curled up my legs, tugged at all the pillows I could reach, shoving some under my cheek, cuddling with others, and aimed my eyes at the windows, seeing desert for a short while before my vision blurred and my thoughts went to the night before.
After Rix and I toasted to our fake future together, we made a deal.
This trip was work, so even though, through spending time together, we’d naturally be getting to know one another better, in order to keep work boundaries, the “deep research” (Rix’s words) would begin when we got back to Prescott.
It was a deal I was happy to make.
It took the pressure off.
Yes, the giddy, ohmigod-Rix-was-going-to-do-this! feel had abandoned me after my first sip of the massive glass of wine he’d poured me, and my anxiety instantly started spiraling.
But I could do work.
Which was what we did, over beer and wine in his room, then steaks and wine in the restaurant, ending up at the bar, with more wine for me, and some bourbon on the rocks for Rix.
I was loose, but I wasn’t drunk.
Though I was comfortable talking, because we were talking about CTB. We were talking about Frank and Hale and the kids. We were talking about the interviews, what we thought, what we’d learned, what surprised us, what didn’t, and what was up next for our trip.
Rix had complimented me for how the kids connected with me, and when he expressed concern he didn’t know how to reach them, I’d assured him that it was likely the kids didn’t open to him as much because he was intimidating.