Chapter 4 Rhavor
The image of that lush ass—full and defiant, like sin wrapped in activewear—had no business living in his head rent-free the entire goddamn morning.
He hammered the new goal post in place hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
Summer was coming, and the farm did not give a single shit about his internal crisis. The goat kids were screaming for attention. The chickens were pecking at anything that moved. The weeds in the north pasture were one warm rain away from staging a full-blown hostile takeover.
He should have been exhausted.
He dragged a hand down his face, wiping away grit and frustration, and glared at the strawberry patch before him. The berries had come in early this year, a sudden explosion of red, and he was already drowning in the harvest.
He reached down. His fingers closed around a plump, heavy one.
It had split clean down the middle.
He stared at it.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
It looked exactly like a pair of lush, bare cheeks.
His grip tightened.
Fuck. Even nature was mocking him.
He tossed the strawberry into the basket harder than necessary and stalked toward the fence line, wrenching another post into place with frustration.
A car horn split the morning air.
A small city car skidded wildly up the drive, sending his chickens—perched along the fence like feathered sentinels—into frantic chaos.
Feathers exploded in a white-and-brown cloud, and indignant squawks filled the air.
“What the hell?” he growled, straightening and waving his arms as the flock scattered. “Who the fuck comes flying in here like that?”
A hand shot out of the window, waving with an annoying amount of cheer.
“Hello!”
He froze.
The car door opened, and the woman from the bakery stepped out.
His chest tightened until it actually hurt.
She wasn’t wearing those damn yoga pants that had burned themselves into his memory.
This was worse.
A sundress. Thin straps. Light, airy fabric clinging to her body like it had been designed to test his restraint. Every curve was on display—delectable, dangerous, and utterly invitation-only.
He clenched his fists, feeling his cock pulse.
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” she called, smoothing her palms down the sides of her dress as she approached. “I got your address from Arla.”
Of course she did.
He wiped his dirt-streaked hands on his worn jeans. “If you came to thank me, you wasted the gas. It was nothing.”
“No,” she said firmly, stepping closer into his space. “I didn’t come to thank you.”
That stopped him. His brow furrowed. “No?”
“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself properly.”
A rough, jagged sound escaped him before he could stop it. “You drove all the way out here just to introduce yourself?”
Her smile faltered.
“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the gravel.
“You’re not bothering me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Liar.
She bothered the hell out of him. She’d been bothering him since the moment he saw her bent over that ladder, her curves delightfully inviting his ruin.
“There was no need to drive all this way,” he added, his voice edged softer. “I already know your name.”
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
A small smile curved her mouth—and somehow that made things worse.
“Well,” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching, “I know yours, too.”
“Oh?” A low rumble edged his voice. “Do you?”
She nodded, clearly amused.
He wasn’t sure whether it was the effect of his name or the fact that they’d spent the last few minutes circling each other like this.
“Small town,” he muttered, glancing down at his boots.
“I like it,” she said brightly.
The dragon inside him stirred, breathing a slow, satisfied heat into his lungs.
“Great,” he replied shortly. “Then that’s settled.” He stepped back before he did something he absolutely shouldn’t, like hauling her against his chest and keeping her there. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes—actually.” She stepped forward, closing the distance he’d created. “That’s why I’m here.”
He paused.
She gestured toward the coop behind him. “I wanted to ask if you’d supply eggs for my bakery.”
Rhavor blinked. “If you keep driving like that,” he said dryly, “I won’t have any chickens left to lay them.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I didn’t mean to scare them.”
A baby goat wandered over, bleating softly as it nudged against Rhavor’s tail.
“Oh—you have goats.” She crouched.
The neckline of her dress shifted.
Rhavor’s pulse thundered in his throat.
Silky blue lace peeked against lush cleavage as she stroked the kid’s head, smiling softly.
“He’s adorable.”
“Careful,” he said gruffly, his eyes tracking the dip of her neckline before he forced them back up. “He’s a menace. He’ll follow you home if you keep that up.”
“That would be terrible,” she said solemnly, though the smirk ruined the effect.
“Do you make goat cheese?” she asked, straightening and brushing her hair back.
“Yes.”
“I love it.” She smiled. “Do you… do tastings?”
“No.”
The only thing he wanted to taste was her mouth.
“My cheese is the best in the county,” he added. “I don’t need tastings.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “I hope I get to try it someday.”
He was so thrown off balance by the look in her eyes that he didn’t notice the mother goat, agitated by a stranger around her kid, until it was already charging.
“Move,” he snapped.
He didn’t think.
He grabbed Sylvie by the waist—his fingers sinking into warm, soft curves—and hauled her against him. He spun, placing his own massive frame squarely between her and the lunging animal.
Her face buried in his chest. Her breasts pressed warm and soft against him. His cock jerked, traitorous and immediate.
Her hands clutched his forearms, her nails biting into his muscle, and the contact sent a sharp, electric heat straight up his spine.
He looked down. She was small, the top of her head barely reaching his chest. When she looked up at him, the rest of the world vanished. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes wide and searching. Rhavor forgot how to breathe.
Then—thud.
A heavy, blunt impact hit him square in the ass.
“Damn it,” he growled. The goat had connected with his left buttock with the force of a wrecking ball.
He scooped the unruly animal under one arm, more pissed about having to let go of Sylvie than the sting in his seat.
She laughed.
“I read somewhere that animals reflect their owner’s personality,” she said, “or maybe it’s the other way around.”
“I don’t go around ramming into people,” he muttered, adjusting the squirming goat.
“You’ve run into me twice now,” she countered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“The first time was technically a rescue effort,” he said flatly, his jaw tight.
He would never admit—even under dragon oath—that he might have nudged that ladder just enough to ensure she fell neatly into his arms.
“Don’t think that counts as saving me twice,” she said solemnly, without flinching.
“If you say so,” he rumbled. “Just don’t test me with faulty ladders or unruly goats.”
She smirked.
“Well, if we stand here any longer,” she said, gesturing to the goat now chewing on the hem of his unbuttoned shirt with smug determination, “you’ll be shirtless in about five minutes.”
Her eyes lingered on his shoulders, a slow, heavy look that made his blood boil, before meeting his gaze again.
“I’ll get you the eggs,” he said, his voice dropping into a rough, possessive growl. If he didn’t get her out of here soon, he was going to do something stupid—like kiss her senseless or carry her inside and never let her leave. “I’ll deliver them myself.”
“All settled, then.” Sylvie smiled as he walked her back to the car.
He watched the sway of her hips until she climbed inside, the sight a private torture. The dragon in his blood settled into a low, possessive purr, satisfied to watch what it already considered its territory.
She jerked the car into reverse as one of his chickens darted beneath the wheels.
He cursed and lunged forward, waving her off.
And as she drove away, leaving behind a faint trace of vanilla and sugar, all he could think about was the next time she’d wreck his routine—
And how he wouldn’t mind that a goddamn bit.