Page 6 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Robin

Flame-licked logs crackled and glowing embers sparked as Rick added more wood to keep the fire going. They’d moved their conversation to the backyard pit an hour earlier, and the warmth was spreading through Robin in more ways than one.

They’d already polished off one bottle of wine and were working on their second.

The naughty grapes were doing a number on her inhibitions.

As the night went on, she found herself fixated on Rick’s mouth, his soft, supple lips increasingly becoming a distraction.

She imagined tracing them with her tongue, before delving into a slow, sensual kiss that lasted until morning.

But her growing attraction wasn’t solely carnal.

Yes, he was handsome, but he was also funny, charming, and a great listener.

He seemed genuinely interested in everything she had to say.

She wasn’t used to being with anyone so attentive.

He’d carried her chair to the firepit, refilled her glass before she asked, and offered up one of his jackets in case she felt a chill.

The thoughtfulness he’d shown had been a bit unsettling before it dawned on her that she’d gotten so used to being around sloppy, immature jerkwads, she forgot what it was like to be with a gentleman.

Whether it was being around his manly charisma, or knowing she’d already had a sneak peek of him au natural , she had a warm tingle between her legs that made it difficult to sit still.

She shifted, squeezing her thighs together as she snuck a glimpse at the bulge in his jeans, wondering what he was packing.

What it must feel like to be surrounded by those big, strong arms. To taste his skin.

To be spread out beneath him. To fuck him senseless.

And there was no doubt in her mind that this high-quality man was totally, completely, entirely fuckable.

She’d always had a hankering for well-seasoned man meat, but never got a taste—although not from lack of trying as her bewildered art history prof found out when she tried to tap that.

But Robin was more than up for it now. Surely, a worldly, experienced man like Rick was a fucking wizard in the sheets.

He used to be a pro baller, for godssake.

“Don’t you get lonely out here all by yourself?” she asked him.

“I enjoy the solitude,” he said, settling back in his chair. “I’m not afraid of being alone.”

“Alone is one thing, lonely is another.” She reminded him with a sly smile. “So that doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“Do I get lonely? Sometimes. But then I chop wood and that takes my mind off it.”

She giggled. “Chop wood? That’s a funny way to say you rub one out.”

He exhaled a burst of laughter, stealing a quick glance at her chest. She’d caught him ogling a few times but pretended not to notice so she wouldn’t embarrass the poor guy.

She was used to both men and women checking her out, and who could blame them for staring, really? Her boobs were simply superb.

“I have an academic theory about men and porn,” she said. “You want to hear it?”

He leaned over and topped up her wine again. “Enlighten me, professor.”

“Guys my age are obsessed with butts because of what they’ve seen online.

Tons of ass play. Plus, of course, you can’t discount the Kardashian influence that caused the booty to pull focus away from boobs,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Meanwhile, older men, let’s say guys around your age who grew up with skin rags, still love nothing better than a pretty pair of titties. ”

Looking rather flustered, Rick bypassed his empty glass and instead hoisted the wine bottle by the neck to take a swig. “Interesting theory,” he gulped.

This was going to be fun. She smiled at him. “I’d love to hear your opinion. Would you say you’re more of a boobs man or ass man?”

He cleared his throat. “Oh, I… er, well I can’t speak for all, but I’d think most men would agree there’s a certain appreciation for a… naturally curvy woman, no matter the proportions.”

And then he did it again. Fluffed her fun pillows with his eyes.

Boobs man. Oh yeah, he’s definitely a boobs man.

He tipped back the bottle and chugged the last of the wine, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow glistening in the firelight. It was adorable to see him getting hot and bothered.

“Getting back to your original question, I do get out once in a while. And if I’m in need of human interaction, I just head down to the store for groceries or to pick up my mail.”

“Yeah, that’s nice, Rick, but… you know,” she said, “what about companionship?”

“Like, a dog?” He nudged his head toward Mutt sleeping off his meat coma.

“Don’t be coy,” she said, not letting up on poking the bear.

She liked stirring things up, and getting a reaction definitely made it all the more fun.

“A good-looking, vital man like you. I don’t doubt for a second that below that denim and flannel beats the heart of a sexual beast. You must get cravings. ”

A smile crept up on his face and his eyebrow arched. “Cravings?”

“You know, urges. Stirrings.”

“Now who’s being coy?” he said, teasing her back.

Ooh, now you wanna play, Rick? Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.

“All right, then,” she said, amping up her bravado. “Don’t you miss getting good and fucked?”

The air between them grew thick and engorged with sexual tension. He tried to laugh it off, grabbing the bottle before realizing he’d emptied it only seconds before. “Who says I don’t?”

“Out here?” she balked. “Who with? Old Mrs. Crawley at the general store? She had bones like matchsticks and hair like dust when I was a kid. God, that hot piece of ass must be at least a hundred by now.”

Rick laughed. “All right, so maybe opportunities don’t come around here all that often.”

Her eyes locked on his. “You mean, unless one shows up at your door and stays for dinner?”

Rick’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his thirsty gaze caressing her big, bodacious band logo. This time, it tweaked her nipples, licked up her inner thighs, and lit up her sex.

“Robin,” he uttered, his voice dropping an octave.

“Rick,” she replied. God, he was so irresistible she could eat him up.

“You know we can’t go there,” he cautioned. “I mean, we really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“W—why not? There are plenty of reasons. Starting with I’m too old for you.”

“Age is bullshit,” she declared. “So, unless you can come up with a better reason why we shouldn’t, I’m gonna start listing off all the reasons we should.”

Then she got up out of her chair. Both tipsy on wine and drunk on the idea of staging a bold seduction, she leaned over him. God, he smells amazing. She inhaled his spicy, woodsy essence, the same alluring musk she picked up on after his shower. It made her toes curl.

“Number one,” she whispered, grazing his ear, “I think you’re sexy as hell. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re kinda into me too.”

Her heart pounded as she nuzzled the scrape of his unshaven cheek, hovering over his waiting lips. His hot, wine-scented breath mingled with hers, proving to be too great a temptation to hold back her desire. Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed in, feathering her lips over his.

He immediately lifted his mouth and kissed her back with more intense pressure, heated and hungry, as if unable to suppress his own need.

Their kiss deepened quickly to exploring and tasting, a surge of passion overtaking them both as their lips devoured and suckled.

Oh God, this man. She melted against him, moaning with pleasure against his mouth, needing to feel more of him everywhere.

His tongue slid against hers in long, deep strokes, plucking the taut strings of desire stretched tight in her lower belly.

Panting, she forced herself to pull away, taking temporary leave of his delicious mouth to continue listing off all the reasons they should give in to even greater temptation.

His heavy-hooded eyes remained glued to her as she stepped back. “Number two,” she said, shrugging his jacket off her shoulders and casually tossing it aside, “we’re both consenting adults.”

Crossing her arms in front of her, she tugged the bottom hem of her tight t-shirt.

She inched it above her stomach and ribs, baring the first of her tattoos.

Her debut ink, sitting high on her hip, was the result of a drunken dare.

A twist of wild daisies. It wasn’t bad, considering it was done by a guy whose studio was in the back of a truck camper.

A year later, she got her second tattoo a few inches above the first. That design was more deliberately chosen—an open bird cage above the words “oiseau rebelle.”

Feeling the heat of Rick’s gaze on her, she slowly teased the shirt above the sheer lace and Lycra cups of her bra, squeezing her breasts precisely the way she’d been fantasizing his large, football-gripping hands doing.

“Number three,” she continued, finally lifting the shirt over her head and letting it drop to the ground. “It’d be a lovely way to end a rather nice evening, don’t you agree?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if his jeans were shrinking by the second.

“You still with me?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Ohhh, yeah,” he rasped.

Pleased by his response, she reached around and released the hooks of her bra. With a couple of shoulder shrugs, she shook it away from her body. Her boobs sprang free of restraint, her tingling nipples twitching as they kissed the cool air.

“Fuck,” he moaned breathily, his mouth falling open as his lusty gaze locked onto her breasts. He watched as she touched herself, cupping, fondling, rousing her nipples to full attention with the tips of her fingers.

“Number four, and this one is my personal motto in case you haven’t guessed,” she said, “you only live once.” Aroused and feeling fearless, with the scales of immense sexual power tipped in her favour, she prowled towards him with a bawdy swagger.