Page 39 of Whiskey Proposal

“Watermelon and whiskey.” I sound like a goddamn caveman, my voice gravelly and deep. “My favorite flavors since that night in Denver.”

“Jesus, Lane.”

“I’d prefer it if I could get you to say, ‘Oh God, Lane.’ ”

Her cheeks flush a brilliant red, and her eyes shine just as bright, yet her pupils are swallowing her irises. Tentatively, she lays her hands on my chest, but she doesn’t push away.

My hair drips onto my shoulders, and a drop rolls down to her fingertips.

“Lane.”

Is it a question? A plea? She hasn’t run yet, so I keep going. “Do you know how much I think about getting between those long legs of yours? Of kissing the sense out of you until you’re completely pliant underneath me? Do you know, Em, how much I jerk off to memories of that night?”

“Tell me,” she whispers.

“All.” I tip my head down so our faces are close. “The.” I prop my hands on either side of her head, the door cool under my palms. “Time.”

“You know what I think about?” Our lips are inches apart. She trails her fingers down my torso, making my abs clench, until she folds her fingers into the waistband of the towel. “You, all businesslike. Then you all cowboy. And you all distiller.”

“Yeah? Which one’s your favorite?” My lips barely brush over hers and the scent of watermelon fills my nose.

“I think the naked one is winning.” Her fingers creep closer to the crown of my cock.

Lust reaches a boiling point, and my raging erection is going to escape the confines of the towel.

The doorbell rings.

She jerks her hands away. “Who’s that?”

I don’t move. I can’t. So close. So goddamn close to paradise.

“Auntie Em! I’ve got some eggs?” Hillary hollers through the door.

Emerson sucks in a breath and gently pushes me back. “I’m sorry. This is a bad idea anyway.”

I give her the space she needs and prop my hands on my hips. My heart is slamming against my ribs. “Why?”

Her back is still against the door. “Because we’re going to get divorced.”

Not if I can help it. “We can fuck like a married couple until then.”

Her jaw drops, but only a squeak comes out. “I . . . It’s not a good idea.”

“I want you, Em.” But I’m not going to pressure her. Whatever happens between us needs to be her choice and not a lack of options. “Just remember that next time you want to see the naked iteration of me.”

There’s more knocking. “Auntie Em?”

I like kids, but their timing always sucks. I never got what Myles joked about when he called Elsa and Devon the best cockblockers in the universe. Now I have Hillary.

“Coming!” Emerson calls. When she turns back to me, her gaze lowers to my chest once more. “I’ll answer the door.”

I nod, my jaw clenched. Arousal bangs around in my head. Do I have to reverse right back into the shower and take care of another damn hard-on?

She sets warm fingertips on my sides. I flinch like she’s a live electrical wire. Then she leans forward and licks a small drop of water off my chest, following its path upward until her mouth is at the base of my neck.

Fuck me. Did I die from desire and this is heaven?

“I won’t forget, Mr. Foster.” Then she leaves me with the most painful erection of my entire life and the brand of her tongue singed into my skin.