Page 17 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

“Good afternoon,” I call out to Rae as she steps into one of the large, white tents for our Wednesday meeting dedicated to State Fair entertainment planning.

Of all the chaotic, color-coded sessions we’ve held over the past few weeks, this one is my favorite by far. Entertainment is where the real magic happens. It’s the heartbeat of the fair—the part that turns dusty fairgrounds into lifelong family memories.

We get to spotlight local bands that have been grinding it out in garages and dive bars all year.

We book baby animals that make even the most cynical adults melt like butter.

We double-check that the rides won’t kill anyone, coordinate with inspectors, and layer in all the little details that take a regular old week in North Carolina and spin it into something kids will still be talking about twenty years from now.

Sure, the fair is about more than just the fun and excitement.

It’s about community, celebrating small-town pride, and everything that makes North Carolina the best damn state in the country.

But let’s be real: the joy? The laughter?

The connection? That’s the part people remember when they talk about the fair years later, recounting their childhoods or that one magical night under the lights when they saw an up and coming star perform before they were famous.

Rae glances up at me from behind a curtain of soft, chestnut curls.

The coffee cup that she’s clutching in her hands presses to her lips as her gaze rakes over my body openly.

She’s wearing a pair of black joggers and a tiny black tank top that clings to her like it was a second skin along with combat boots.

If she was aiming for laid-back, casual comfort, she nailed it.

And if she was trying to short-circuit my brain and make me instantly hard tonight, well, she nailed that too.

Consider me officially turned on by the color black.

I can’t help myself—I shoot her a wink, just to enjoy the way her cheeks flush pink when I’m being extra flirty with her.

She may have bolted on me Monday night with nothing but a blur of curls after I offered to take her to dinner, but I saw the way she was watching me work at the distillery stirring and killing my back.

She thought she was subtle, but I caught her eyes lingering on every muscle while I sweated through the job Colt assigned me.

And yeah, I’d planned that. Maybe not the specific job—I didn’t know I’d end up mixing grain with a gigantic oar and burning up that fast—but I knew I’d be doing some sort of hard work that’d get her attention. It'd been by design all along.

Frankly, I’m glad I’ve been putting in extra time at the gym Colt and I built at his new house down by the creek.

Every edge, every ounce of definition matters when it comes to Rae.

I’ll take any advantage I can get to wear her carefully constructed defenses down, even if I know I probably shouldn’t be trying.

There’s something about her that has me wanting to try.

I want to watch her lose that carefully held control that she clings to.

To hear her gasp my name when I make her feel things she’s never felt before.

Because I’m confident I could do just that.

She’s into me. At least, I think she is.

She just hasn’t figured out how to admit that to herself.

She lets out a soft sigh as she steps closer. “Are you always this happy?”

I glance at my watch, smirking. “Considering I’ve been up since four this morning and it’s now four in the afternoon? Yeah, I’d say I’ve earned it.”

Her eyes practically bug out of her cute little head. Big, round and green. The kind some women pay for in colored contacts but hers are all natural I can tell. Like a soft, spring moss or the prettiest gem.

“Why on earth would you wake up at four in the morning?”

“My body’s used to it now. Chickens need me,” I say with a shrug.

“These chickens sound quite demanding,” she says, folding her arms over her chest.

“Not as demanding as a woman can be, but yeah. They've got me by the balls.”

Her brows lift, and she straightens, all mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I am not a demanding woman.”

I arch a brow and smirk. “Oh, really? What about that email you sent me at one in the morning?” I clear my throat and shift into a half-hearted impersonation of her—though my voice is nowhere near her sweet, raspy drawl.

“‘Cash, I need you to look up this artist and listen to herentirecatalog so we can both agree she’s the perfect fit for entertainment. I’ve already reached out to her manager, and this truly feels like the best we can do, so I just need your sign-off. ’”

I drop the act and raise a brow again, grinning. “Sound familiar?”

Her lips twist like she’s trying not to smile, but I see the faint curve there before she hides behind her coffee cup again.

“I was a little bit drunk, and I probably shouldn't have asked you to listen to her entire catalog. That was a bit dramatic. One song would have been good enough to confirm what I already knew.”

I tilt my head. “Drunk? On a weekday?” Sure as shit hope it wasn’t on a date.

“Laken took me out,” she mutters like it’s no big deal.

“I see. To where?”

“Your bar,” she says, eyeing me cautiously over the rim of her cup.

“Well, now I’m offended that you didn’t invite me.”

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “What, so the whole town can fawn over their golden boy? My rival?”

“Now that,” I say, leaning in just a little closer to catch a whiff of her sweet, cherry scent, “sounds a hell of a lot like jealousy Ms. Black.”

She sets her coffee cup down on the edge of the table we’re supposed to be reviewing entertainment plans on and levels me with a stare cool enough to rival the late October breeze.

It’s gotten colder today—enough that her tiny tank top and her clearly braless state have her nipples pressing hard against the thin fabric.

Jeez. Women who don’t wear bras might just be my kryptonite. I always thought the invention of thick, padded fabric that masks their natural nipple shape, color, and size was a damn crime and seeing Rae's uninhibited, presented in front of me like a gift, confirms it for me.

Someone call a retailer, they need to stop producing bras immediately.

“My eyes are up here, Cash,” she deadpans with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I can see your nipples,” I shoot back because what’s the point in pretending I’m not distracted by the shape of them. By the color of them. By the way I want to take one between my teeth and nip at it just enough to have her moaning.

Her jaw drops open. “What, are you sixteen? It’s a boob.”

I grin and rock back on my heels. “I’ve got the stamina of a sixteen-year-old.”

Her mouth opens and closes like she’s trying to find a comeback but can’t.

Her pupils dilate, and for a second, I wonder if I pushed things too far—if that was a line I shouldn’t have crossed.

But dammit, the thought of her, with her soft curves and sharp tongue pressed up against me leaves me wondering what it’d be like to push her even further.

I'd like to slide my cock between those tits and fuck them until I come all over her pretty neck and chest.

“That’s... that’s highly inappropriate, Cash.”

“Sometimes I say inappropriate things. Does it bother you? I can stop if you’d like me to?”

“Um… no... I mean, I don't want you to stop being you,” she says slowly, her tone unsure. It’s obvious she has no idea how to handle the last ten minutes of our conversation.

“Noted, you want me to keep being me.”

She flushes and shakes her head, and I decide to throw her a lifeline and ease the clear tension in her shoulders.

“All right, so you were saying?”

She clears her throat, straightening her shoulders like she’s trying to shake me off. “I didn’t invite you out last night because it was girls’ night.”

“I like girls.”

She sighs. “So I’ve heard.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, stepping closer to her. Close enough that there’s barely a whisper of space left between us. Her gaze flicks up to mine, her expression calm and indifferent—though that shrug of hers is all attitude and faked indifference.

“Regan told me that you... appreciate women, that’s all.”

Fucking Regan. Ratting me out like the little sister that she is.

I tilt my head, not breaking eye contact. “That’s not something I’m ashamed of. I do. I love everything about women. I think they’re the stronger sex, and frankly, we should let them make more decisions for the world instead of men. Look at the mess men have made of things.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and I can tell I hit a chord.

Good.

Because I’m not lying—this world’s gone to hell under the patriarchy.

“I also like the way that they smell. The way they taste. And I love bringing them pleasure.” My voice drops lower, softer, as I watch her lips part on a soft gasp.

“There’s something so damn incredible about having a strong woman on top of me, her nails clawing at my back while she screams my name.

Makes me feel like a king to be able to bring so much pleasure. ”

She wets her lips, and my eyes follow that flick of her tongue like it’s a magnet. “It sounds like you have quite a bit of experience with them,” she murmurs, her voice catching slightly.

I nod, slow and deliberate. “I’m not going to lie. I do. Does that bother you?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, then she clears it and takes a deliberate step back, putting way too much distance between us for my liking.

“It wouldn’t matter if it did. Let’s... let’s get to work,” she says, her words rushed. “The rest of the planning committee’s coming in an hour, and we still need to finalize the entertainment lineup before we hand it off to them.”

She circles around the white plastic table and pulls out a chair, setting her tablet down with a little too much force against the surface.

I follow, and when she sits as far from the middle as humanly possible, I slide my chair right next to hers until our thighs are bumping.

She scoots away again, and I grip the leg of the metal, and yank her towards me, causing her to gasp as she slams into my side.

I grin down at her.

“Must we sit this close together to do this?” she demands, glaring at me with a mix of irritation and flustered nerves.

“Yeah. I need to see over your shoulder at what you’re writing. Make sure you aren’t cheating."

And stare at your pretty side profile.

The way your lips are so full and soft.

The curve of your nose and full swell of your breasts.

And smell you. You smell like sweet sex and cherries.

“Ugh, fine…” she says, her voice quiet, still clearly rattled. I glance at her neck and notice the goosebumps that have broken out across her skin. She’s trying so damn hard to play it cool, but her body betrays her. She feels this too. Whatever this is.

I lean back slightly, but only to bide my time. I’ve been patient. I’ve been a good boy, waiting for her to let me in.

But tonight? Tonight, I’m done waiting. Tonight, I’m making a move.