“Why do I want you so much?”
Spencer was aware that the words he said gruffly to Maxine Keller sounded drunkenly slurred. Leo Landry’s moonshine had that effect on mouths and tongues. But it also worked as a sort of truth serum.
The clear, potent, homemade concoction that could be used to unstick frozen windows, and as an antiseptic on wounds, was also delicious and could make a man spill all of his deepest, darkest desires.
That was no secret. People knew it would happen before they took even the tiniest sip. But they kept sipping.
Spencer should have known better.
“Because I’m clever, witty, bold, and beautiful?” Max asked him.
She was all of those things. For sure. But he frowned as he studied her face, including the tiny, mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
“I don’t think that’s it.”
She lifted a brow.
But seriously, he met clever, witty, bold, and beautiful women all the time.
Okay, maybe not daily, but often.
Max had deep red hair, and big green eyes—that often flashed at him with irritation, as a matter of fact—and smooth, creamy pale skin, and amazing breasts.
Yeah, he was a breast guy, and this girl had perfect ones.
She was gorgeous, no doubt about it, and he’d had the impression from the first time he met her that she didn’t even know it.
But no, it wasn’t all of that. Whatever was drawing him to her was something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something he almost understood, but couldn’t quite define.
And it was making him fucking nuts.
It was why he’d pulled her away from the wedding reception going on inside the building behind her and why he now had her alone in the shadows. He needed to figure this out. Because he’d been thinking about her for months, even though he’d tried not to. And he’d almost convinced himself that whatever he’d felt a year ago had disappeared.
Then she’d shown up at this wedding, with her hair up in some sexy twist, wearing a black dress—who wore black to a summer wedding anyway?—and the air had been sucked out of his lungs and he’d thought, well, fuck.
