Grin and Beard It(69)

I cursed, my muscles rigid, and I came. The image of her flirty smile and seductive looks played through my mind, the only sound my heavy breathing as I tried to calm my pulse. The fantasies had been too vivid in the dark bathroom. I’d come too quickly, my mind still a tangle.

Spent, unsatisfied, and exhausted, I flicked on the light and saw to the mess. I was no closer to contentment than I’d been moments ago, and the question remained, other than the obvious, why her?

Our first kiss had set the tone for everything that had come after: frustration, desperation, passion.

It had been weeks since she told me I was fun. Fun to be with, fun to be around. And it was painful to hear those words from her mouth. I was spitting mad. So what did I do? Walked away like I should’ve? Like a sane person?

Hell, no. I kissed her, because—even though she was pissing me off—I missed her and I wanted to.

So I did.

And did I turn down her request to drive in together? No. I gave in, even though spending time in her company as a friendly acquaintance was like lying in a bed made of fiberglass.

And when Cletus told me she was dealing with bad news, I didn’t think twice about dropping everything to make sure she was okay. And again when her asshole coworker showed up outside the dining tent and implied she should try a low-carb diet.

I wanted to say, You know what else is low-carb? Shutting the fuck up.

I wasn’t thinking clearly. I kissed her again, in full view of everyone, and spent the rest of the day tortured, tasting her on my lips and cursing myself.

And now she was coming to dinner.

She’d be in my house, and yet still completely out of my reach.





CHAPTER 19


“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”

― Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene



~Sienna~

I spent entirely too much time trying to decide what to wear to dinner. At first I settled on dark blue jeans and a caramel-colored, off-the-shoulder shirt with a white lace camisole beneath. Dave told me it looked good.

“But do I look sexy?”

He grimaced in horror. Apparently my question panicked his delicate sensibilities.

“I need to look sexy, because I’m trying to get Ranger Jethro to kiss me and think about me naked.”

If things went well tonight, then hopefully Jethro and I would be able to spend quality time together for the next sex weeks or more.

Six weeks!

I mean, six weeks, not sex weeks.

Six. Not sex.

Not. Sex. Weeks.

. . . although, I hoped some of the six weeks would be sex weeks, if you know what I mean. ;-)

Dave’s frown eased and he grinned. “Oh. I see. Maybe wear a skirt?”

“Why a skirt? Why is a skirt sexier than jeans?”

“Because he can lift it easier,” he explained pragmatically. “You don’t say ‘lifting jeans.’ It’s called lifting skirts for a reason.”

I trusted Dave, so I changed. Instead I wore a simple blue skirt, matching V-neck top, and—at Dave’s urging—nude thigh-high stockings with dark sapphire suede Mary Janes.

“The shoes are practical, flats but dressy,” Dave said as he nodded his approval. “But the stockings make them sexy. Once he realizes they only go up to your thighs, he won’t be able to concentrate on cooking anything that tastes good. So maybe grab a snack before you leave.”

Scrutinizing my reflection, I lifted my skirt a few inches to reveal the top of the lace. I loved Dave. I was going to give him a raise.

I navigated while Dave drove. Thick mist rose around us as we descended the mountain, which struck me as strange. It hadn’t rained and the sun shone brightly in the higher altitude around Bandit Lake. The sky had been blue. But here in the valley a late afternoon fog had rolled in, casting a silvery sheen over the emerald-green forests and narrow roads. The light was different. I felt as though I were looking at a fairy glen through the filter of a camera lens.

Nothing looked familiar and the whimsical lighting was distracting. Thus, I was immensely proud of myself when we arrived at the Winston homestead (as Cletus had called it) with only one U-turn between Hank’s cabin and our destination.

I understood why Cletus had called it a homestead as soon as we drew close enough to the main house to see it clearly. It was a grand house. At least three stories, with possibly an attic and basement, a wraparound porch, and Roman columns along the front. The white exterior, blue trim, and red door all appeared to have been newly painted.

And it was located on a great deal of cleared land with outbuildings in various stages of disrepair. Although one in particular, a detached garage or old carriage house, seemed to be in the middle of renovations.

I craned my neck as I exited the car, holding the two bottles of wine Henry had secured earlier from the grocery store.