Page 12 of Surrendering to the Grump

He disappears into the back. Returns with a brown bag from Home Sweet Burgers. "Got two at lunch. Saved you the smoked apple cheddar."

This man.

"You saved me a burger."

"I figured you forget to eat when you're running things. Somebody's gotta make sure you don't pass out on the corn maze."

"That happened one time. In high school."

"Sit." He nods at the stool by the workbench.

I sit. The burger is room temperature but still incredible. He leans against the bench across from me, arms crossed, watching me eat with an expression that's trying very hard to be neutral and failing.

"What?" I say around a bite.

"You had face paint on your arm Monday. Today you've got glitter on your neck."

My hand flies to my throat. "Where?"

"Right here." He reaches out. His thumb brushes the side of my neck just below my ear. Warm, rough, lingering a beat longer than necessary to remove glitter. My breath stutters. His hand doesn't move.

"Did you get it?" My voice comes out thin.

"Yeah." His thumb traces down the line of my neck to where my pulse is hammering. His eyes follow the path. "All gone."

Neither of us moves. His hand is on my neck. My burger is forgotten. The shop is quiet except for October wind against the glass.

"Kennedy."

"Rhett."

"Wednesday at Hank's. That almost happened."

"I know."

"It's gonna happen now."

"I know that too."

He steps forward. Both hands come up to cradle my face. Rough palms against my cheeks. He tilts my head back and his mouth covers mine.

The kiss goes from zero to devastating in half a second. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I grab fistfuls of his henley, pulling him between my knees on the stool. He groans against my lips. Low. The vibration rolls through my entire body.

His hands drop to my hips. He lifts me off the stool and sets me on the workbench, stepping between my thighs. My legs wrap around him on instinct. Every inch of him is hard. Chest, arms, and the thick press of him against my center that makes me gasp into his mouth.

"Been thinking about you all week." His mouth drags down my jaw. Hot breath on my ear. "Every time you walked in here smelling like cinnamon. Every time you bent over that clipboard. Your mouth. Jesus, your mouth."

"Rhett." My fingers rake into his hair. Thick. Soft at the roots. "Take me somewhere that isn't a workbench."

He lifts me off the bench. My legs stay locked around his waist. He carries me through the shop to the small office in the back. The leather couch. He sits down with me in his lap, straddling him, and the position puts my breasts right at his eye level.

His hands push my sweater up. I pull it over my head. His eyes drop to my bra, a simple black cotton thing that was not chosen for seduction, and his jaw clenches so hard a muscle jumps.

"Off." One word. Raw.

I unclasp it. His mouth is on my nipple before the bra hits the floor. Hot, wet, sucking hard enough that my back arches off the couch and a moan tears out of me. His tongue circles the peak, flicking, teasing. His other hand cups my other breast, thumb rolling my nipple in slow circles.

"Fuck." My hips grind down on him. His cock is straining against his jeans, thick and hard under me. The friction against my clit through two layers of denim sends sparks up my spine.