Hell yeah, I want to go. “That depends…” She arches a brow and waits for me to continue. “… as long as there’s no shagging.”
The words leave a sour taste on my lips, but when it makes her smile in amusement, it makes it worth it.
“I can’t make any promises.”
I freeze as I’m getting out of the water, momentarily speechless. My gaze darts to hers.
She snorts out a laugh and covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my! I did not mean for that to come out that way.”
I hold up my hands, smiling. “Whiskey, no matter how hard you try, it’s a no.” I’ve never told a bigger lie. Not even admitting the weed was mine compares to this, because if she asks, I would pleasure her for fucking hours. Hours.
She’s still laughing when I step into the canoe. “Just ignore me. Trying to sound cool backfired.”
She has no idea how hot she looks right now. There’s nothing fake about her, and I love that. “I think you’re cool, no need to try. So, where are we going?”
“I somehow missed a box for my deliveries this morning, so I need to go by my house to pick them up.”
“Whiskey, this is a million-dollar view.”
I thought the view to the Hudson River from my condo, back in New York City, was amazing, but it pales in comparison to this. I spin around from the double sliding glass door and glance around the studio-sized home. The kitchen takes up more than a third of the space, looking out of place. Especially the three mismatched ovens against one wall.
“My dad built my home. And he knew I loved to bake, so he created a kitchen big enough that I could run my business out of it.”
I turn to where she’s sitting on her couch, watching me, and tilt my chin. “Your business?” Jesus, what else does this woman do? Her carefree laugh draws me to her. Every. Time. I step over to the couch and sit on the opposite end. Twisting my body to face her, I spread my arm against the back.
She bites her lip, and I watch it roll out of her teeth. Sexy as hell even when she’s not trying. My eyes flash up to hers when she asks, “You know those cookies you love so much?”
The shock of discovery excites me. The random ovens and the long white box on her counter. It all makes sense. “You make those?” Her face brightens with a quick nod. “Is that why you always smell like sugar?” An intense desire to taste her, to know if she tastes like vanilla runs through my veins.
She’s my poison. Whiskey and sugar.
Each second I’m around her, I take in a little more, except I'm not able to get enough. I should run away from this woman, her toxic mixture will be my undoing. But I can’t. What scares me the most, I don’t care.
My fingertips are inches away from her shoulder, the thin strap of her white tank top has fallen to the side. I reach over and drag it up her silky tan skin, resting it on top. Every nerve ending in my body spikes to attention.
Her eyes heavy with want, I wait a beat for her rejection or a simple shift away from me. I swallow hard when it doesn't come, afraid my next move will ruin the moment. I haven’t been this nervous since I kissed Penny Rose in ninth grade.
I trace my fingers up her neck as I slide closer to her, across the turquoise velvet couch. It’s taking major restraint to keep this slow.
“You should tell me to stop,” I beg through my hunger.
“And if I don’t?” Her lips part with a mute invitation.
I pull in a ragged breath, her sweet smell filling my lungs as I cup the back of her neck. Dipping my head, my lips brush against her shoulder as I whisper, “Then things are about to happen.”
“Then stop talking, Ball Boy.”
She snapped the ball right into my hands. It’s all about the execution now. My mouth covers hers softly at first, waiting for regret to kick in. But rather than pull away, she pushes into my kiss with reckless abandon and her body folds against mine. Her taste causes a dizzying loss of control. Fingers scrape down my scalp and I moan into her mouth.
Someone clears their throat. I jerk backward and jump across the couch like a teenager busted for making out with his