Page 8 of Smoked

I take a healthy sip of wine. It’s cold and dry. I guess I'm more tired than I realized. With the sun, the crowd, the amazing food and the big, handsome man who made it…all of it settles into my body at once, heavy and warm.

I set the glass on the side table. I'll just close my eyes for five minutes.

And suddenly, he's there.

He curls into the edges of my dream like his smoke. First, I see his hands, with the burn scars scattered across his knuckles, the healed-over marks that show a life spent near open flame. They’re thick and rough, just like the rest of him.

My eyes go up his corded forearms. Dark ink curves around one of them, something floral and unexpected on a man this rugged such a sexy contrast. Higher up, near his shoulder, sits a barbecue fork and spatula crossed like sabers under a lick of flame.

That man and his fire…

He's standing right in front of me and I have to tilt my head back to find his face, and even then his shoulders block out everything behind him. I remember how it felt to collide with his solid frame earlier.

His T-shirt stretches across his huge biceps and the apron wraps around his stomach…thick, round, and unapologetic. It’s the kind of belly that says I eat what I like and it’s part of who I am. I want to press my palms against it, feeling him breathe.

His hand comes up slowly and touches my face.

He uses just his fingertips at first, grazing my cheek, and then his palm settles against my jaw. His hand is hot and eclipses the side of my face. He's gazing at me with those hazy brown eyes, in complete awe.

He strokes his thumb downward and my eyes fall closed. His rough skin makes my own come alive. When I breathe in, all I get is woodsmoke, char, and his heady musk. Somehow my body goes tight and liquid at the same time.

"Tess,” he rasps, right above me.

His thumb moves along my jaw, over my chin, and then it drags across my lower lip. My breath catches. He presses down, just enough, and I open my mouth obediently. His thumb slides in against my tongue, and I taste salty, smoky skin and the sweet tang of barbecue sauce. I close my lips around him and he groans, low and raw, sending a rush of wetness between my legs.

His other hand finds my waist and his fingers spread wide across my hip and he's pulling me in, pulling me against all of him—the thick chest, the bulk of his belly, and the steely hard length below. I let out a shaky breath, feeling him everywhere, overwhelming me, and his mouth drops toward mine and⁠—

I jerk awake on the couch.

Holy shit.

The living room is nearly dark. My hair is in my face, my heart is pounding, and I am flushed from my chest to my scalp.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and exhale.

I hear my phone vibrating in my purse, so I fish it out.

It’s a text from Sloane.

So…

I had a great time, Sloane. Good food, lovely weather.

And?

I already told you. Wade’s nice. And he cooks delicious barbecue.

Nice? That’s the best you can do.

We’re complete opposites, he’s twenty years older than me, and I’m not sure he’s even attracted to me.

Stop it. You’re a knockout, super smart, and funny…Everyone is attracted to you. Even I entertained the thought when we first met. Also, opposites attract. It’s been proven. And you aren’t allowed to call out the age thing, when Ike and I are even further apart and I can’t imagine my life without him.

I huff. It’s strange being in this position, since I so recently was the one giving Sloane a hard time about all of this with Ike.

So, I make a decision.

Fine, I need you to ask Wade something. But don’t get too excited.