Page 2 of Give In

His voice is deep and rumbly in the way of distant thunder, the kind that you feel in your chest slightly before you hear it with your ears. It does things to me. Makes my insides feel all squishy. Makes other parts of me damp and needy in a way that seems frankly disproportionate to the stimulus. I’ve never had this kind of reaction just from a man’s voice. I would like to study this phenomenon. Later. In private.

My mouth opens.

A strange squeaking noise comes out.

Awesome. Way to play it cool, Clover.

He smiles. It’s a good smile. A great smile. I can’t quite tell if it comes with dimples because his beard covers most of his jaw line and cheeks, but I’m fairly certain it does, and I’m fairly certain that information would not be good for me. He is definitely one hot silver fox.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” he asks, like a man who is entirely comfortable with the pace of this interaction and has nowhere else to be.

I clear my throat. “Clover.”

“Heath.”

He holds out his hand, and I lay my palm against his for a shake. His fingers close around mine and I become briefly aware of how large his hand is, how completely it encompasses my own, and I have a moment of thinking that my hands are not small, I’ve never thought of them as small, and yet right now it feels like a child’s hand inside his.

“Nice to meet you, Clover,” he says.

“Yes,” I say.

He releases my hand. He is still looking at me with an expression of patient, unhurried interest that makes me feel simultaneously very seen and completely unable to form words.

Maybe I should ask him if he wants to join the Mile High Club with me.

And we would fit where, Clover? The man is a beast, and you are no petite fairy girl.

I glance at him to check for any reaction and when I don’t find one I’m fairly confident I kept that inside my head where it belongs.

His grin widens.

Oh damn.

“Um, did I say anything somewhat inappropriate to you a moment ago?” I ask.

He leans slightly forward across the empty middle seat, and I get the first hint of how he smells, which is warm and clean and delicious. “No,” he says. “Did you want to say something inappropriate to me?”

What I want is to take my panties off and hand them to this hot man candy. But that would be very inappropriate.

“So what do you do, Heath?”

“I’m a landman.”

“Oh, that has something to do with mineral rights, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.” He seems pleased that I know this, which pleases me in return, which is a level of mutual pleasing that I find mildly dizzying at thirty thousand feet. “It’s an antiquated job title, but I suppose it does fit.” He settles back slightly, comfortable, unhurried. “What do you do?”

I laugh. “A little bit of everything. If you would have asked me that question yesterday, I would have told you I was a cake artist.”

“But today you’re not?”

“No. I got fired. Turns out, decorating a cake with actual icing is quite challenging.” I shrug. “They make it look so easy on Pinterest.”

“I’m sorry you lost your job.”

I put my hand on his arm. His forearm is warm and solid under my fingers. I remove my hand. “Oh, don’t be. I lose jobs all the time.”

His brows wing upward.