I set down the hammer, face bright red. “If I’m distracting you, you know, I can go and change,” I say, mostly to call him out. Even though, I have to admit, I’m enjoying knowing the effect I have on this guy. He might be judgmental at times, but he’s also hot as hell. It’s been a long time. Good to know I’ve still got it.
Grant’s eyes catch mine, full of humor. But his voice is dead serious when he replies, “Don’t.”
That one word makes my belly clench, and my legs quiver. Combined with the way his dark eyes still hook on mine, boring into me, it’s making the ache between my legs grow to a distracting level.
Then he smirks again, a knowing smile that tells me he knows just how much of an effect he’s having on me. Without another word, he turns back to his own work.
After a moment’s hesitation, I go back to nailing down my row of shingles too. We work until almost half the roof is finished, when Grant leans back on his heels and taps the empty bucket. “Out of nails. I’ll have to do a supply run later.”
“I can go,” I offer.
“Do you even remember where the hardware store is?” He cocks an eyebrow.
I bite my lip. “I have GPS.”
“You think any stores in this town are on Google Maps?” He laughs.
I sigh and sit back on my heels. “Still. If you give me directions, I don’t mind running out. You’ve put in so much work here already.” I cast an eye past the rooftop, at the distant yard, where, from this vantage, I’ve already been able to see evidence of his handiwork. Some of the fields have been plowed, the soil tilled. Others show signs of recent plantings. Not only is he fixing up the house itself, but he’s even working on the land. I didn’t even think to do that. “I want to pull my own weight.”
“Clearly you can,” he replies, casting a glance at the tiles I lined up. “My mistake for doubting you.”
“I accept your apology,” I answer with a faint smile.
He grins back at me. “Still don’t think you can handle everything about country life, City Girl.”
“You mean life in general or something in particular?” I lift one eyebrow.
“I was thinking selfishly, I’ll admit.”
“And just why do you think I can’t handle you, exactly, Country Boy?”
His gaze drops over my body again, slowly. “You turn bright red every time I look at you, let alone say anything.”
He’s right, I am blushing. But I force myself to lift my chin and lock eyes with him. I want to prove him wrong. I’m not the blushing girl he thinks. “Why, have something you want to say?”
“Plenty, Sasha.”
My pussy clenches noticeably at the sound of my name in his mouth. Fuck. Why does he know how to turn me on so easily? “So go for it, Grant,” I reply. I raise my brows, inviting.
But he just shakes his head and turns to reach for the ladder down. “I’m going to clean up. Then I’ll do a hardware store run. Feel free to tag along if you want to know where it is.”
Before I can even reply, he’s down the ladder, leaving me alone on the rooftop, wondering what on earth just happened.
Half an hour later, I’ve made it down from the roof too and dusted myself off. I head into the bedroom to grab my stuff and go change. But when I pass the lone bathroom in the farmhouse, the steam escaping through the open door catches my eye. It’s only opened a crack, just a couple inches. But it’s enough to glimpse, via the mirror hanging over the sink, a reflection of what’s happening in the shower.
I should keep walking. I know I should. But my feet have their own idea. They slow, stumble to a halt before the door, and, unable to help myself, I steal a peek through the open doorway.
At first all I see is shower tile. I’m about to take a deep breath, tear my gaze away and turn toward the bedroom instead, when movement catches my eye. Grant steps into view, reaching for something on the other side of the narrow shower. He’s turned to the side, giving me a glimpse of muscular thighs, and an ass so tight and round it makes my stomach clench and my mouth water. But then he turns back toward the shower again, and my jaw drops.
He is a big man. Huge, in fact.
He’s not even hard right now, I think in shock, at the sight of his thick cock. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be fucked by a man like him. I’ve never been with anyone that big. But my pussy tenses, my panties damp. Clearly my body wants to find out.
Too bad, I scold it. I spin away from the door and hurry toward the bedroom before I get caught gawking at someone I should definitely not be fantasizing about. But the whole time I shrug out of my tank top and into a clean shirt for our run into town, I can’t stop picturing his body. The water from the shower curling down over his taut muscles. I imagine being in that shower with him. The way he’d pin me against the wall and lift me off my feet easily, like I weighed nothing at all. The way he’d thrust into me, and how thick he’d feel inside my tight pussy, stretching me out, making me scream with pleasure…
Stop thinking about it, Sasha. Clearly I’m just horny. It’s been a long time since my last hookup. That’s the only explanation I can think of for why I’d suddenly be so into a guy like this, a guy so different from my usual type. I like pretty nerdy boys. The kind of guys I can have a long intellectual conversation with before we make love to our favorite soundtrack. Not guys like this.
Not guys who could probably fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked before.
I force that thought, along with all the rest, from my mind. Force them out and focus on what I need to do now—go finish our errands for the day.
I straighten my fresh shirt and consider my jean shorts for a second. I could change them. But I’m remembering Grant’s eyes on my ass, and the way he smirked at me. That one word he uttered. Don’t.
So I leave the shorts on, grab my wallet, and head out into the living room.
When I get there, Grant is already dressed and waiting for me. I resist the urge to glance at his crotch, wondering if I’d be able to see the outline of his cock through those jeans. Wondering what it would take to get him hard for me.
I can’t think like that. I’m too distracted as it is.
For his part, Grant just smiles when he sees me, ambiguous, hard-to-read. Is he smirking at me, or does he just always look a little bit haughty, like he knows something I don’t?
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, and he leads us out toward the cars. He bypasses mine straightaway—and I can’t exactly complain. The dirt roads aren’t too helpful on this rental’s undercarriage. He heads straight for his truck and I trail after him.
Then we nearly collide because he’s stopped in front of the passenger door to open it for me.
“Oh, I can…” I reach for the handle then pause halfway. Because he’s shaking his head.
“I might be a country boy, but I was raised with manners,” he says. He opens the door and swings it open, then steps aside while extending a hand.
I glance from the truck to him and back again. The step is two feet off the ground—nothing I couldn’t handle with effort, but still. I place my hand in his, and thrill at the warmth of his skin, the strength in his hands. I lean on him as I step up, and he lifts me easily toward the cabin as I climb into the passenger side seat.
He shuts the door behind me and circles around to his side of the truck while I’m still catching my breath from that touch. Dammit. Why does he have such an effect?
He climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door, not bothering with a seatbelt as the turns the ignition. Country music blares over his loud speakers, but louder than that is the growl in the truck’s engine, itching to be gassed.
Just the sound of the truck motor—a real engine—brings back a flood of memories. Riding shotgun with Mama into town for groceries, bouncing on the seat with every bump to make the ride feel like a roller coaster at the county fair.
Learning how to drive myself on these roads, gunning it as fast as I could so I could feel like I was flying—flying away from all this.
Riding shotgun with Dad, back before—No. I cut that memory off short. I don’t think about those days.
I run a hand across the dashboard, unable to conceal my smile.
“Been a while since you’ve been taken for a real ride, has it?” Grant asks, a wide smirk on his face. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the truck, exactly. My face flushes.
“Might be,” I admit.
“Well. Might want to buckle up then,” he replies, grinning.
Without further warning, he guns it. We’re facing down the driveway, but even though I just drove up and down this twice yesterday, it feels completely different from here. From the seat in a truck built for this terrain, driven by someone who knows how to handle these country roads. Pretty soon we pick up enough speed to barrel along, and I whoop, unable to contain my elation.
Grant laughs. “You need to loosen up once in a while, City Girl,” he calls over the roar of the road under our tires, the rush of wind through the cracked windows, because of course this thing doesn’t even have air con. And for some reason I don’t even mind. “You’re a lot more fun this way.”
“Yeah, well you’re a lot more fun when you’re taking me for a ride instead of calling me names,” I shout back with a smirk.