Whine with Cheese
She couldn’t tell if she was nervous or excited. The sensations felt the same. Her heart raced, her stomach tingled, and her unabashed thoughts ran wild.
I’m not a rebound kind of girl. I’m just not. Right?
Chase pulled up on a vintage Honda CB 750 motorcycle, kicking up gravel and brandishing a huge smile. Max tried to avoid staring at his sculptured chest defined by his tight, black t-shirt, as a tinge of guilt rose up in her unexpectedly.
I have every right to spend the day with this guy. I’m single now, and we’re just wine tasting.
But the instinctive habit of loyalty to Bart flared up in her like acid indigestion.
“Good morning, beautiful. Let’s get this day started. I’ve got bread baking in the oven. Hop on.”
Again with the beautiful? He actually thinks I’m beautiful.
Oh, good lord.
Max’s giddiness curled the corners of his lips as he handed her a helmet and tilted the bike to the side. She slung her leg over and perched herself above him, looping her long purse strap across her back and fastening the helmet onto her head as a shock of exhilaration rose up in her at the thought that he was already between her thighs.
She had never experienced such hospitality before from a man—a gorgeous, bread-baking, sensitive, ponytail-wearing kind of man—and it rallied her nerves with feelings of unworthiness.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered.
“What do you mean?”
It’s just wine tasting. Tasting … wine. That’s all.
She slipped her hands around his waist, reeling from the feel of his ripped abs against her palms. She even leaned in to breathe in the skin on the back of his neck. Her eyes rolled back in her head for a split second as she resisted the urge to plant a kiss on the exposed patch of skin behind his ear.