Big Man

But I can’t lie, he’s good at it. Not to mention how good it felt being cradled in his arms—at least once I was awake enough to realize what was happening, to feel his strong arms holding me against his rock-solid chest, and feel his breath on my cheeks as he leaned down to check on me, asking me questions, cracking jokes to check if I was still awake and with-it.

And when he helped me sit up to drink water, his touch against my back felt red-hot, almost as distracting as the itch in my throat and the pounding, dizzying ache in my head from the dehydration.

Now, he’s cooked a veritable feast, which he’s forcing me to eat in bed like I’m an invalid.

“I can sit at the table,” I protest.

“That would ruin the whole point of dinner-in-bed,” he replies with a shrug as he sets the tray across my lap. The breakfast-in-bed tray. I remember this. We used to bring it in to Mama every Mother’s Day, serve her pancakes on it.

We?

No. I used to. I used to, every year after my good-for-nothing father left us to fend for ourselves on Mother’s Day and every other day of the year.

I force that thought to the back of my mind. Don’t think about it. Like always. Like I’ve been doing for years.

I smile a little half-smile at Grant, and glance from him to the feast. He grilled corn and potatoes the same way Mama used to, baking them in tinfoil, then searing them a bit at the end so they’re black and flaky around the edges, not to mention coated in plenty of salt. His ribs look a hell of a lot better than any Mama ever made though, and covered in BBQ sauce. All that combined with the fat slices of bread and the veritable vat of butter he included, and, well…

“This looks like the worst possible thing we could eat in bed,” I point out with a laugh, eying the single handful of napkins he brought with it dubiously.

“Why, are you a messy eater, Sasha?” He lifts an eyebrow, smirking at me.

“Depends what I’m eating,” I say, before I realize. I blush a little and roll my eyes as he snorts with laughter. “I meant like ribs, which are going to get all over my hands and my face.”

“Uh huh. That the only thing you like all over your hands and face?” He raises a single eyebrow, pinning me with his stare.

I remember what he said in the car. The way he thinks about me. Not going to lie, the whole time I was out working in the yard, the memory of that comment kept me more than a little worked up.

As annoyed as I might be by him making that comment, threatening to make this relationship anything but a business one, I have to admit… It’s hot as hell to know that I’m just as distracting to Grant Werther as he is to me. The big country man might be a danger to the little city girl, but apparently, he’s not immune to my charms either.

Which is good to know.

So I grab a rib and take a bite, catching his eye while I chew it, then lick the BBQ sauce slowly off my lips. “Course not,” I reply. “Who doesn’t like to get good and messy once in a while?”

His grin widens. But the way his eyes go dark and hungry, that he can’t disguise. Oh yeah. Grant fucking wants me. And wants to fuck me, for sure.

I want to fuck him too.

Damn.

We’re treading on thin ice here. But there’s something about being this reckless that’s a relief, after all the dates I’ve been on in the city lately. Those are all dancing around the point, beating around the bush until my bush gets so tired of all the double-talk that I just give up and go to bed. At least Grant is direct. At least with him, I know exactly how much trouble I’m getting into because he tells me straight upfront.

I finish off that rib while he takes one of his own, then lay it down on the plate and reach for a napkin. On second thought, though, I pause and raise a finger to my lips. I lick the BBQ sauce off slowly, eyes locked on his, and grin as he narrows his eyes.

“But don’t get any sauce on these sheets,” I say. “We’ve only got one bed, you know.”

“You’ve only got one bed,” he points out. “Me, I’ve got a whole truck bed to myself. That one I don’t mind getting dirty either.”

My cheeks flush. “We can trade,” I say. “I’ll take my car tonight. It’s only fair.”

He snorts. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let the lady who nearly passed out from dehydration and exhaustion in the yard today sleep in her damn car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”