The Lucky in Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,83
auditioning other candidates?”
With a sultry, confident stare, she shakes her head. “No. I’m waiting for you to blow me away.”
“Funny. I was waiting for you to blow me away.”
Her eyes take a tour of my body, stopping at my crotch. “We’ll see about that.”
I grab her wrist, grip her hand. “No one else is going to be kissing you in any contest, or by any waffle truck. Got that?”
“I guess you need to prove you have what it takes to make my knees weak.”
“And your panties wet.”
She wiggles an eyebrow, dips her face close, her soft cheek brushing against mine, and whispers in my ear, “You’ve already done that.”
Then she tosses a five-dollar bill to the farmer, who must have returned at some point, says, “Thanks, Bob,” and walks away.
Unabashedly, I tilt my head to the side, staring as she saunters down the aisle, giving me the chance to enjoy the sight of her ass, so fucking spectacular in those jeans.
As surreptitiously as possible, I adjust myself, then a pang of guilt stabs me.
We just practically dry-fucked in Farmer Bob’s stand. The least I can do is pay for the privilege. I buy a bag of avocados and hope to hell someone in the house wants guacamole.
By the time the market ends, guac is the last thing on my mind.
The waffle truck is first and foremost.
8
Derek
Thirty interminable minutes later, I make my way to the food truck, eager to see her again. Maybe we’re going to don aprons and hats and whip up Belgian waffles, an entrée to the main course of kissing that would also go well with whipped cream and strawberries.
But I don’t want to play patty-cake drop-a-dollop-of-whipped-cream-on-your-nose-and-get-to-know-you games. I’m not interested in dating, and I don’t have the bandwidth to fit that in—not on top of the new job and taking care of my family.
Those are my priorities, and there’s no room for anything else.
But I do like the idea of kissing the taste of strawberries and whipped cream off Perri’s sweet, pouty lips.
When I reach the truck, a closed placard is perched at the window, and I curse.
But a second later, my red-haired beauty appears at the window, leaning over the steel edge, wiping a waffle crumb off her lips, a hint of mischief in her green eyes.
“So sorry, sir. The truck is closed.” Her tone is the definition of coy.
I lift an eyebrow. “What if I’m not here for the waffles?”
“Interesting,” she says, taking her time with the word. “Whatever would you be here for, then?”
“I believe I’m here for the one-fifteen appointment to prove I can make your knees weak.”
A naughty smile is my reward, then she glances down, checking out an invisible schedule. She taps the imaginary page with a finger. “Why, yes. I do see you, right here. But I have one question.”
“Hit me.”
She bends closer in the window, resting her chin in her palm. “Do you like sweet or savory?”
I take a beat before I answer. “I have a healthy appetite for . . . everything. But I especially love to eat sweet things.” I reach for a strand of her hair, twisting it in my fingers. “Sweet red things.”
A gust of breath seems to cross her lips, then she whispers, “I need to warn you. My lips might taste like cucumber and tomatoes.”
“I’d be open to taste-testing.”
“Then I’m open to your appointment.” She leans over the edge of the window, those tits pushing up in her white T-shirt, sending my dick speeding into full-speed arousal. This is when she should give me a ticket—semi to flagpole in less than a second.
This woman is a temptress like I’ve never seen before.
I stare at her, my jaw tight, my desire already stoked high. I exhale sharply. “Open the fucking door to the waffle truck, Perri.”
A little murmur tells me she likes the command, and it also makes me curious if she’s the kind of woman who’s so used to giving orders and telling people what to do all damn day that she likes a few orders in the sack.
“Come around to the back,” she whispers.
I peer inside the window, confirming the truck is empty. Only her. I head to the back, and she’s there holding the door open.
She slides a finger over her lips. “Listen.” Her tone turns serious. “My friend Staci took off for about ten minutes to pick up her regular grocery order from the farmers. No one can see us in here, but we don’t have—”