My eyes on the return bin, Chace’s coffee on my dash, mine in my hand, my car parked on the street, I waited for the boy and Chace.

I’d texted him to say coffee was my treat. He’d texted back to give me his order and tell me he’d pay me back when he got to my Cherokee. I texted him back and asked him if he knew what “my treat” meant. He texted me back with, Baby, I’ll give you money when I get to your SUV.

These were simple words on a phone display but I still could read the tone.

My text back was, Oh, all right.

I expected that would be the end but I got a one word reply.

Cute.

God, Chace Keaton was fraking awesome.

My cell rang. I pulled it out of my purse and saw the display said, “Chace Calling”.

I felt a little thrill shiver over my skin and took the call.

“Hey.”

“Hey honey. Bad news. Got a callout. I can’t do the stakeout with you today.”

That was a huge fraking bummer.

“Okay,” I replied.

“I’ll be at your place tonight, seven thirty.”

“Does seven thirty mean our reservation is at eight?”

“Eight fifteen, in case we hit traffic or weather.”

“Will this mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin on the way back, considering we’ll probably get home past your bedtime?”

Silence then, “Now she gives me smartass and it’s still f**kin’ cute.”

I smiled.

The boy showed.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed on a muted cry. “He’s back.”

“How’s he look?”

I studied him as he made his careful way to the return bin. “He’s wearing my coat, new jeans. The hat. He really should wear the gloves and scarf I bought him. It’s cold. I’ll put that in my next note.” Then, quietly, “Lip still bad.”

“He uses the Neosporin, it’ll help.”

“Yeah.”

I listened to Chace sigh as I watched the boy make it to the bags.

“He get ‘em?” Chace asked.

“He’s going for them now.”

“Good,” he muttered then, “Gonna let you go. See you tonight.”

“Tonight, Chace.”

“Later, honey.”

He disconnected.

I watched the boy walk away with the bags.

I gave it time, secured Chace’s coffee (latte, triple shot) and then drove into the lot.

I took Chace’s coffee with me into the library and I drank it after mine. This meant I was wired all morning.

Or it could be my date with Chace that night that made me wired.

It didn’t matter.

It felt like I was dancing on air.

* * * * *

Seven thirty that evening

“Frak, frak, frickity frak, frak, frak,” I muttered, looking at myself in the full length mirror on the inside of my wardrobe door.

This wasn’t me.

It was hot.

But it wasn’t me.

I was wearing a sweater dress the color of a green olive, a color that Lexie told me would work for me in a big way with my coloring and she was not wrong.

The dress was awesome. Formfitting (very), it went down to just above the knee, had a deep, wide vee in the front that exposed the skin of my chest and collarbone but only a hint of cle**age. The sleeves were tight all the way down and went past my wrists. And there was some vertical detailing in the knit that was sensational. It made me look taller at the same time accentuated my curves. There was more of it around the waistline so it gave even more of a sense of an hourglass figure than I already had and one could say my figure was extremely hourglass.

In a moment of idiocy, I’d looked up straight hair hairstyles on the internet to get ideas. When I got home, I did a bit of fluffing, spraying, tousling and teasing, the last just at the top back, and swept just the hair at the top of my forehead back about an inch, securing it with bobby pins painted dark brown. But the fullness and teasing at the back gave it a sex kitten vibe that even I had to admit looked really good.

I’d added more makeup than I usually used, deepening it a bit, some green around my eyes but not going overboard because I never felt comfortable with a lot of makeup caked on. But with the hair and dress, the effect was astonishing.

I had on silver hoop earrings that were long and an intricate five tier silver necklace that was a mixture of green, brown, purple and dark blue beads, small silver balls with some short silver spikes.

It all wasn’t me .Yet it was, just not in the me sense of me but in the Me! sense of me.

It was the boots that did it. Dark brown, patent leather with a pointed toe, four inch, spiked heel and a super thin strap around the ankle with a tiny buckle at the side that made my ankle look delicate and gave a classy, stylish rock ‘n’ roll look to the boots.

They weren’t hot. They were smokin’ hot.

The whole getup made me look sexy.

It made me feel sexy.

I liked it a whole lot while at the same time it freaked me out a whole lot more.

Because I wondered what Chace would think about it.

And I hoped like all fraking heck that he’d like it.

A knock came at the door and I jumped.

Oh God, he was there.

Frak.

I closed the wardrobe door and secured it with the little latch, sucked in a huge breath and walked across my apartment belatedly thinking I should have had a glass of wine (or two) while I was getting ready.

I pulled off the chain, undid the deadbolt and opened the door.

Chace was wearing a heavy denim, western stitched, slimfit shirt that looked like it was once black but then it had been left out in the elements for a year and after dragged behind a truck for a thousand miles so it was now a dark, distressed gray. Once this was accomplished, it clearly had been blessed by a tough as nails ninety year old cowboy who could still lasso a steer going flat out on his horse and this blessing happened during a sacred rite like all clothing that was kickass should be.

Over it, Chace wore a well-tailored black wool sports jacket. Dark blue jeans. Black cowboy boots and a black tooled leather belt with a silver belt buckle with a subtle cow’s skull imprinted on it.

My mouth started watering and I had to curl my hand around the edge of the door to remain standing because my legs started trembling.

I lifted my eyes to his face and whispered, “Hi.”

At my voice sounding, his eyes, pointed down and aimed around my breast/midriff area, shot to mine.

Then, one second I was standing in the door, the next second I had my back against it, Chace against my front, one of his arms around my waist, one in my hair, cupping the back of my head and his tongue was in my mouth.

This was another, different, kind of kiss.

I thought the one in my office was deep, thorough and heated.

It had nothing on this.

It wasn’t only the delicious tongue action. There were heads slanting this way and that (both of ours). Hair being gripped (only mine) and gripped in a sexy way that pulled at my scalp rough but gentle and so hot I felt the area between my legs get wet. Hands were doing a lot of roaming (three of them, one of Chace’s, both of mine under his sports jacket).

It was wild. Abandoned. Rough. Wet. Intense. Fiery. Thorough. Exquisite. Heart-pounding. Blood-singing. Soul-rocking. Life-altering.

Luscious.

When Chace tore his mouth from mine, I actually felt it take a supreme effort for him to do it. His strong hand was cupping my behind. His other one was fisted in my hair. One of my arms was cocked, forearm and palm pressed flat against his lat, pulling him to me. My other arm was wound around his back, hand fisted in his shirt. Our breath was coming heavy, fast, mingling as it brushed our lips.

I slowly opened my eyes and at what I saw in his, another rush of wet surged between my legs and my fist in his shirt tightened.

Undone by the kiss, forlorn that it ended, mindlessly and idiotically I asked the first question that popped into my head.

“Do you like my dress?”

Chace’s head jerked even as he blinked. When his features righted he stared down at me half a second before his hand went out of my hair, his other one slid up my back and both of his arms closed around me super tight. He bent his head, shoved his face in my neck and burst out laughing.

I decided to take that as a yes.

* * * * *

Eleven seventeen that night

“I gotta go, baby,” Chace whispered against my lips.

We were making out, standing just inside my door. We’d arrived back about ten minutes ago. I still had my coat on, Chace his jacket. When we stepped in, he’d closed the door but immediately pulled me into his arms.

Dinner was fabulous (not a surprise). Conversation was easy. Smiles were frequent. Laughter the same.

In the car there and back, I found out Chace listened to country (also not a surprise) and it was good country.

Now the night was over.

And I really, really didn’t want it to be.

Still, I whispered back, “Okay.”

Chace didn’t move, not even his lips that were still a breath from mine.

“Good mornin’ call tomorrow.”

Goodie!

“Okay.”

“My turn for our kid but I didn’t have time to do anything.”

“That’s okay. On my lunch hour I bought him some more books, some comics, a flashlight, some batteries, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a few packs of gum, more water and some more candy bars. I also wrote the note and added a notepad and some pens so he could write back.”

I felt Chace’s smile against my lips at the same time I saw it in his eyes.

“I’ll take the weekend,” he offered.

“All right,” I accepted.

“We’ll win him, Faye.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Want that mouth again before I go, baby. Soft this time,” he whispered back.

“Okay,” I breathed, got up on my toes and touched my lips gently to his hoping I was doing it right.

Then I moved back.

The gentle look in his eyes told me I did it right and I felt like the queen of the world.

He lifted his lips to kiss my nose, his arms gave me a squeeze then he let me go.

He turned to the door, had it open and was walking out when I called, “It was a really good night, honey, thank you.”

He turned back to me, his beautiful blue eyes hit mine and his face was solemn.

“No it wasn’t, Faye,” he replied and my heart squeezed. Then he finished quietly, “It was a f**kin’ great one.”

At that, my heart flipped.

Chace closed the door.

I stared at it.

Then I sucked in breath.

After that, I twirled, skip-danced to my bed, flopped back on it and smiled at the ceiling.

Huge.

Chapter Seven

Hazelnut Half and Half

“’Lo honey.”

Like every morning since the first, Chace’s dick, already hard, jerked at hearing Faye’s cute, drowsy, husky voice answering the phone.

“Mornin’ baby,” he replied.