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Long, lean, tan, bare legs pull my eyes from her face, unable to look at anything else. She’s wearing some sort of skirt or dress that hits her mid-thigh. The hem is flowy and has some sort of floral pattern on it. I don’t really know. My attention is still on her thighs, which are now pressing together. And there’s that scent of arousal again.

Fuck, it smells amazing. Sweet, heady, and floral. I want to taste it. Taste her.

I just barely suppress another growl and forcibly remove my eyes from her legs, roaming up her body over the dark maroon deep V-neck sweater she’s wearing, and stop and stare when I reach her eyes. It’s better than staring at her bare legs, but not by much. Her denim blue eyes are large and round, and her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. She’s nervous as well as excited.

“Hi,” she says, breaking the silence between us with her soft voice.

What is it about her voice? What is it about her?

“Hello, nightingale,” I say dreamily in response. Clearing my throat to regain my composure. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. Why do you call me nightingale?”

“Because of your singing. It was beautiful, like a nightingale. You’re going to have a hard time avoiding karaoke if you sing like that.”

She blushes but also averts her eyes. Her scent shifts as a dash of fear enters the mix, souring her sweetness. Why is she so afraid to sing in front of others? She’s obviously good at it. I would sit and listen to her sing anything for as long as she would let me.

“Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone, I think I can manage.”

I will gladly keep it our little secret if she doesn’t want me to tell anyone. I like being the only one to hear her sing. I like that that part of her is just for me.

I mimic zipping my lips and locking them. That appeases her, and the fear evaporates from her scent. Good.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask, the ease of our interactions growing with every conversation we have that I don’t run away from.

“Yes. Let me just grab the flowers. Oh! I also bought some wine.”

She spins, her short hair fanning out in an arc as she jogs into the small kitchen, returning with a bottle of red wine in her hands.

“It was the best they had at the grocery store, so I hope it’s okay.”

I’m no wine connoisseur, but I recall having a conversation with Ginger regarding a bottle of wine at the store that was priced at five hundred dollars and that I swore would never sell.No one in town is that fancy or willing to spend their money on such a splurge. But Lottie doesn’t seem to be affected by it all.

“The one that cost five hundred dollars?” I ask, just to confirm.

“I know,” she starts with a frown. “I would have gotten something better, but it was the best I could do on short notice. I hope they like it.”

She thinks a five hundred bottle of wine isn’t acceptable? My parents and Ginger will be more than pleased to partake in the wine. Her lack of concern for its price, however,is concerningto me.

For the first time, I take a moment to truly look at Lottie, ignoring her enticing smell and hypnotic eyes and noticing the purse with the LV logo on its side. I don’t know what brand it is but even I can tell those letters translate into multiple zeros on the price tag. Not to mention the quality of her clothing, which looks brand new, lacking the normal wear and tear of well-used clothes. Yet the Nissan sitting in the drive has seen better days, not fitting in with her put-together attire and high-dollar wine purchase.

She’s told me as Hunter the wolf, or Sinatra as she named me,about her past, family, and reason for being here, but it never sounded like she was rich. Her easygoing attitude and lack of snobby superiority add to her personable nature. One thing that I’ve noticed through my dealing with the wealthy is that they don’t tend to possess it. What she told me was vague, though. Never mentioning what her job was or what happened to spur her on this journey into self-discovery.

A hundred questions are poised on my tongue, but I can’t manage to say anything other than, “I’m sure they’ll love it.”

Hopefully reassuring her that her willingness to spend so much on a gift for my family will be well received and appreciated.

Lottie smiles and tucks the bottle of wine under her arm, turning to the small dining table where a large bouquet in a yellow vase sits. It’s large but tasteful. Lottie must have had to twist Daisy’s arm to get her to hold back like this.

Before she can lose her hold on both the vase and bottle, I step into the cabin to help her. Instantly, my senses are overwhelmed with Lottie. Her smell, heat, and very being have taken over every inch of the space. I don’t completely hate it.

Grabbing the vase, I make sure not to touch her hands. I can only imagine my reaction to touching her skin after what happened in the gardens.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you’re not mad at me for leaving you with Daisy earlier. I got a call and had to leave to take care of some business,” I lie, hoping she believes me.

Lottie just smiles and shrugs it off. “It’s okay. Daisy helped me finish. I understand. You must be busy as mayor.”