“Thanks. I’ll take it.”
He strolled toward the front desk and picked up the phone, but as the line clicked, his mind wandered back to the call he’d make straight after.
8
Shannon
The long bus ride back to Meadow Dawn gave Shannon too much alone time, because all she could think about was Jamie.
More specifically, his soft, full lips and that electrifying kiss. It was wild how his mouth had rendered her speechless.
Was that supposed to happen?
Were real men capable of such sorcery?
And, boy, was he a real man. In every way possible…from his manners to his boxers.
She couldn’t stop wondering whether they fit well or were loose enough to let his…dick swing.
Yeah, swing.
It had to be impressive, or he wouldn’t be so damn cocky.
The sweet ache of arousal grew hotter as she sank back into her seat.
He’d paid the bill, kissed her sanity away, and then vanished. No further contact.
Exactly what a guy like him would do after being turned down by a nobody like her. Jamie didn’t have to chase women.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as a deep sigh puffed from her nostrils.
Anyway, he’d pick the skilled, polished party girls, not an inexperienced country girl who preferred the company of animals over people.
Jamie could charm the petals off the prettiest rose, leaving it exposed and shivering in the cold, still craving his attention.
And buying lunch was an underhanded way of making her accept his money.
It didn’t matter, though. Life was too busy for hassles.
She palmed her forehead and groaned.
Acceptance settled in her belly. She‘d made the right call by turning him down, even though it meant losing out on what could have been the best sex of her life.
The cross-country league finals were fast approaching, and she had to prove herself worthy.
Focusing on the weekend ahead didn’t help. She still couldn’t shake the heat smouldering low in her core.
The only other traveller sat six rows away from her, blasting music on his headphones. Shannon sat alone, a seat away from the back row. Hidden and restless.
Her body hummed with a craving she couldn’t get rid of. The pulsing in her clit refused to fade, no matter howmany times she squeezed her thighs together or crossed her legs.
Despite her efforts to think of something else, the memory of him kept pushing back, hotter and more demanding.
His smirk, that dimple, the way his posture moved with confidence. All of him made her pulse go wild, and the heat inside her flared again.
She knew she shouldn’t. God, she shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, not in a public coach.
But the urge was overwhelming. The fantasy of his rough hands and deep voice had her veins burning, and her skin desperate for touch.
