ridiculous, really. She’d seen his face a million times over the years, and it never, ever got old. Never failed to elicit that usual combination of fondness and frustration and something that might have been horniness, if Riley knew what that felt like.
Not that she was the only woman to get horny from the likes of Sam Compton. It was almost a shame that he’d decided his passion was mashing grains for whisky, because he looked like one of the actors who would get cast as “the good-looking guy” in every possible movie genre.
With blond hair and blue eyes, Sam could have been a run-of-the-mill guy next door, but the genetics lottery had been kind enough to get everything just right. His eyes were such a light shade of blue that they had a sort of chronic piercing effect, made even sexier because they were framed by a set of some seriously killer lashes. And his hair was that ideal shade of golden blond with just enough wave to be, well … sexy as hell.
And the body …
oh, the body
.
Sam had the lean, muscled build of a man who was used to
using
his body. Which she supposed made sense. He’d gone straight from the football field to a freaking
triathlon
on a dare from Riley’s brother. And she didn’t really have a clue what he did to keep in shape these days, but he did
something
, because his biceps were definitely straining the fabric of those tight T-shirts he wore everywhere, and the jeans revealed nothing but sheer man-butt perfection.
“You checkin’ me out, Ri?”
“You know, I was? Just trying to figure out who caused those wrinkles around your eyes.”
“Well, you know what they say about aging. Men get distinguished and women just get old.”
She snatched the lime out of his hand even though she didn’t know how she was going to carry the ones she’d already gathered. “You’d better invest in some eye cream. Nurse Angela’s not going to like you going all old-man on her.”
“Nurse Angela didn’t go paying much attention to my eyes, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Compton. I have
no
idea what you mean by that blatant sexual reference,” she snapped, sliding out of the truck with the limes cradled against her chest. One fell to the ground,but since picking it up would mean dropping the rest of them, she left it.
“Hey, I figured you like it blunt,” he called after her, grabbing the rest of the ingredients and coming around the truck. “You’re the one who makes a living off of selling sex.”
Riley’s head snapped back in surprise. “What did you just say?”
He looked a little startled by her expression. “I just meant—”
Riley turned to face him, eyes furious. “I don’t sell sex. I write about it. There’s a big difference.”
“You know what I meant, Ri.”
“Obviously not,” she said, taking a step forward.
His eyes went wary, and he took a tiny step backward.
Smart man
.
She hadn’t felt the need to defend her job in years. She figured the people who couldn’t handle it were either prudes or recently blue-balled.
Somehow she didn’t think Sam was either one of those.
“You know, you’re right, Sam. Maybe I should stop selling sex. Maybe I should go stir grain liquor around in a garage, and then refuse to share it with anyone, much less sell it. Maybe live in a perpetual state of
it’s not ready
?”
His gaze darkened, as their conversation quickly went from casual sparring to heated anger. It inevitably did with them. They’d scratch back and forth, inflicting light surface wounds, until someone swiped too hard and drew blood. Then the other bit back, and, well …
“You don’t know anything about it, Riley.”
“Nobody does,” she muttered, turning back to the house.
When Sam had announced that he was starting his own distillery a few years prior, the McKenna family had done nothing but support him. Unlike his own mother, who’d done nothing but tear him down.
But what had the McKennas gotten for their support and hope for