“Here they come,” he says as we head down a corridor of the main offices to head back outside, “this is not me pawning you off. Just making sure two of my best men take care of you while I am in meetings all day.”
Mother suggested I come to town to get some things to settle in at their new place. Furniture for the spare bedroom is on top of my list. Maybe talk to Maude at the coffee shop and see if I can strap on my old apron and make some cash mixing coffee for the locals again.
Thinking about how many steps backwards I am taking, I do not pay attention to the steps forward I am taking, and I crash into someone. At least, I think it is someone, but it feels like a brick wall. Stumbling back, two huge hands grasp me by the waist, sending shockwaves through me. I tip my head back, back, looking for whoever saved me from my usual clumsy self.
A witty retort is out of the question. How can I be clever when I cannot remember my name? Breathing is a task too. I feel the warmth from his hands spread through me like wildfire racing through a dry forest. I am the dry forest in this analogy. Gazing up at the most beautiful man I have ever seen to see fire and hunger burning in his eyes, beingdryis no longer an issue.
As I feel his fingers flex on my waist, as if he wants to pull me closer, my panties get soaked. I rub my thighs together as I start to push against his chest, giving in to the pull I feel towards him. Just as my breasts brush his chest, and he rewards me with a little groan, he pulls away abruptly.
It is then that I realize he is a pilot. His big body fits in his dark flight suit as if it were made for him. I wonder how he could fit in one of the tiny cockpits Grant just showed me. Taller and wide, he could be a model for the Navy, showing up on those recruiting ads. Because lord, he is beautiful.
Dark, stormy blue eyes the color of the deepest parts of the ocean stare down at me with an intensity that sets me on fire. My dress feels too tight at my breasts when his eyes linger there, and too long when they travel down my legs. I want to tear the damn thing off and rub against him like a cat with her scratching post. I bet he could scratch any itch I might have.
Not that I would know, I have kept my itches to myself. I don’t much like being touched. Even mother gets the rare hug from me. But when his hands grabbed me, I wanted them all over me. Tangled in my hair or pushing me down as he bent over me from behind. I flush just thinking of all the places he could put those big hands, my head bowing shamefully.
His dark hair is windblown, and, in the sunshine, it looks silky soft. I want to run my fingers through it. I find myself wondering if he has hair on his chest, and if I would like that. Why am I thinking about that? His mouth is full, and I wet my own lips as I think how delicious it looks. I want to bite his bottom lip and hear him groan again.Jesus, what is happening?
He watches me with those intense eyes, his jaw ticking as we all listen to Grant speak. For a moment it is just the two of us standing here, not my new stepfather and not his friend. There is no sound from the activity on the base, only the racing of my pulse in my veins. I am aware of the rise and fall of his chest, of that tick in his jaw, and the way he flexes his hands. Good. He feels whatever this is too.
“Yes, uh,” Grant clears his throat, “My stepdaughter. Perri. Perri these are two of my finest men. They will see to it you get taken care of. Boys, give her whatever she asks for. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” both men call, and I laugh because they are adorable.
Pretty eyes grins at me and I feel my stomach bottom out. Jesus,that smile. That smile with those eyes is a dangerous combination. I find myself moving closer to him as if pulled in by that intensity of his. Grant mentions dinner again and I believe I agree, but I can’t be sure.
Once he leaves us, I realize I am standing at this beautiful stranger’s side, waiting for something. For him to touch me again or for me to find the courage to touch him. For his name. His last name, which I bet would look great tied to my first name. I laugh at myself and his eye flare as he stares down at me.
“Since I can see I am not needed, I will leave you to it, Bird,” the other man calls before he is gone.
“Bird? Why do they call you bird?” I ask as reach out, touching his jaw so I can feel the stubble beneath my fingers.
“Because I fly like a bird. You don’t call me that. Call me Parker,” his voice is low and rough as he tells me his name at last.
“Parker,” I mimic him, gasping when his hand grabs my waist again, yanking me closer to him, “why did he leave? Grant told you two to take care of me.”
“He left so thatIcan take care of you. Do you want someone else to take care of you, Perri?”
Staring up at him, I shake my head. No, I don’t want anyone else to take care of me. But I very much wanthimto take care of me.