We walk up and down the rows, Brady searching for the prettiest pumpkin he can find while I trail behind, my gaze fixed on his perfect butt.
“What do you think of this one?” He squats to examine a large white pumpkin and his jeans pull taut across his thighs and ass.Thank you, Jesus. “It’s nice and round.”
“It really is.”
He turns to me, his dimple on full display. “I’m talking about the pumpkin.”
“Same.” We both know I’m full of it, but there’s zero chance I’m going to cop to ogling him, so I turn to my right and scan the ground, spotting a little orange gourd that’s shaped more like a pomegranate than a pumpkin. “Oh! I found mine.”
It’s a sad little guy and I doubt anyone else will take it home, but it’ll look great in my kitchen.
I reach down to grab it and the instant I wrap my fingers around the vine, I’m struck by a sharp pricking sensation.
“Ouch!” I leap back, cradling my injured hand.
Brady’s on his feet in an instant.
“Let me have a look.” He takes my hand in his and examines my palm. “I should’ve warned you. The peduncle is prickly.”
I snort-laugh. “I’m sorry, did you just say peduncle?”
“It’s the proper name for the stem.” Brady chuckles, but his gaze stays fixed on my stinging hand. “Hold still, okay? You’ve got a few spines stuck in your palm and I need to remove them so the skin doesn’t get irritated.”
His touch is gentle as he removes the tiny prickles and when he’s done, he brushes his fingers over my palm to ensure he hasn’t missed any.
Awareness floods my body, raising a trail of goosebumps on my forearm. The man may look rough and tumble, but damn if he doesn’t know how to handle a woman. One touch—hell, one look—is all it takes to send my hormones into a tailspin.
“How does that feel?” he asks, voice low and husky.
Like I want to wrap my legs around you and climb you like a pole.
“Good.”
Maybe Brady hears the longing in my voice because he lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips against my palm.
My knees turn to jelly and it’s a wonder I don’t melt on the spot.
“That’s nice too.”Really nice.
I stretch up on my toes, desperate to feel his lips on mine, but the tractor chooses this exact moment to return, shattering the spell.
Brady drops my hand and pulls a folding knife from his back pocket. “I’ll cut the pumpkins loose and we can catch a ride back to the barn.”
I flick my gaze to the small blade. “Let me guess, you were a Boy Scout?”
“Would you believe me if I said I just like to be prepared?”
“Not even a little.” I jab him playfully in the chest. “I’ve finally got your number Brady Vaughn, and there’s nothing you can say or do that will surprise me.”
20
BRADY
I makequick work of the pumpkins and after we pay, we stash them in the Jeep and check out punkin chunkin. It’s a first for Piper, but she takes surprisingly well to the giant slingshot, sending her gourds sailing across the farm’s tiny pond with ease. She hits the target every time, the tiny pumpkins exploding on the wooden board while mine go splashing into the lake.
When she’s done gloating, we decide to check out the corn maze.
We grab two cider donuts and munch on them as we make our way across the property. They aren’t as good as my mom’s cookies, but that doesn’t stop me from demolishing the apple cinnamon ring.
