“I’m from Kansas, so—”
Her admission surprises me more than a little. I’d pegged her for an East Coaster like myself. “You’re not from here?”
She takes a sip of bourbon and smiles. “You didn’t notice my lack of accent?”
“Yeah, but I just figured you were from somewhere else on the East Coast. Not the Midwest.”
“Why?”
I could go into a long tirade about how she screams East Coast to me. How she’s fast-paced and focused, how she’s working toward a career in photography by taking a position where her photos will get noticed, how she dresses in body-hugging yet classy clothes. Of course, I’m generalizing, but most people I know from the Midwest or West Coast move slower. I simply shrug. “You look like a city girl.”
“Kansas has cities.”
“True, but not like the East Coast.”
“Also true,” she says. “I come from a farm, anyway.”
“A farm?” I lift my eyebrows. She astonishes me once more. “A real, honest-to-goodness farm?”
“Uh…yeah. Does that surprise you?”
“A little. Do you milk cows and everything?”
She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t grow up on a dairy farm, Braden. I grew up on a corn farm. You know, knee-high by the Fourth of July?”
“That’s interesting.” Not the corn so much as the fact that Skye Manning is so not a farm girl in my eyes. She’s the antithesis of a farm girl.
“Why did you leave?”
She lets out a short laugh. “Because I’ve taken about all the photos of corn I want to take in my career.”
I resist the urge to join in her laughter. “Right, photography. Makes sense.” I gaze at her, my eyes never leaving hers, as I take the last sip of my wine. “Ready for dinner?”
“Sure, let’s eat.” She takes another small sip of the bourbon, sets the glass down, and licks her lips.
God.
That mouth.
My cock is straining against my pants. I’m done waiting. So done.
I meet her gaze and burn her with my own. Her eyes are wide with an answering need, her lips parted and glistening.
I stalk toward her, my chest already rumbling with a groan.
“Fuck dinner.”
Chapter Eight
I grab her hand and lead her to my bedroom.
I gaze at her for a moment as we stand in front of the closed door. The door to the room where I’ll finally fuck Skye Manning. Maybe get her out of my system.
But I know already it will take way more than one fuck to get this woman out of my system. The thought both frightens and exhilarates me.
Her ponytail has come slightly loose, her cheeks are pink, her nipples hard. A lovely picture, but again, my gaze is drawn to her mouth.
That fucking amazing mouth.