Chapter 25
“I’m fine,” I said for the millionth time as Adam leaned across the center console to unbuckle me. “Stop babying me.”
“You will be fine,” Adam corrected. “Right now, you have bruised ribs. The doctor said not to do anything strenuous for the next couple of days.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I was there. This isn’t my first injury, and I’m pretty sure unbuckling a seatbelt does not count as strenuous activity.” I did air quotes around the words and immediately regretted lifting my arms.
Shit, that hurt.
I breathed through the pain, turning my wince into a smile. From the look of Adam’s furrowed brow and flat mouth, I wasn’t fooling him one bit. “I’m fine. I just want to go inside, take a hot bath, and get into bed until tomorrow.” Except I didn’t have a bathtub. Dammit. “A hot shower, I mean.”
Adam leaned across me to grab the seatbelt and buckled me back in with a click. He threw the gear shift in reverse.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we rolled away from my cabin.
“The big house. I have a bathtub.” Then, like he knew I was about to protest, he sweetened the deal. “And Epsom salts. You aren’t the first of us to get dusted, and you won’t be the last.”
I chewed my bottom lip. Getting naked and wet at my boss’s house didn’t seem like the best plan for keeping things strictly professional here at Lodestar Ranch. Then again, I was injured. I could barely lift my arms. Anything that involved hot and heavy breathing fell into the category of things I would like very much to avoid for the time being.
I didn’t bother arguing when we pulled up to the big house and he unbuckled my seatbelt again. I rolled my eyes, but I sat obediently when he told me not to move, then waited until he opened the passenger door and held out his hand before I got out.
“I swear to god if you try to carry me inside the house, I will go boneless and take us both down,” I warned.
He smirked. “I know your legs work, buttercup. Good to know your mouth does, too.”
His gaze lingered there on my lips. I sucked in a breath, making my ribs burn.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I can’t seem to look at you any other way.”
“Well, you have to. Because…you have to.” Because it hurts to breathe when you look at me like that. The sharp feeling in my lungs was mostly the fault of my bruised ribs, but my bruised ribs had nothing to do with the ache in my chest.
“Are you sure?” His hand was so gentle as he brushed my hair back from my forehead. “It might be fun to make Brax’s head spin around.”
“I want to be respected as the head trainer at Lodestar Ranch. That’s going to be hard if everyone knows I’m banging the boss,” I said.
That wasn’t my real reason. Yes, I wanted respect, but my work spoke for itself. I did a damn good job, and I knew it. I hadn’t slept my way into the job and there was no higher position to promote me to. People would gossip, no doubt, but eventually they would find something more interesting to talk about. I would hate it, of course. I had worked so hard to be taken seriously.
Love was worth fighting for. I believed that. But with Adam, I’d be fighting alone.
The second we got inside, Ben came barreling into the foyer with Ted right behind him. He slid to a halt on his socked feet, grabbing the staircase banister for balance.
“James!” His blue eyes were wide and anxious as he looked me over. “You look okay.”
“I’m good, bud,” I assured him. “Banged up a bit, but no broken bones.”
“I wasn’t worried,” he lied, and I arched an eyebrow, amused. “Dad sure was, though. I thought he was going to cry.”
“I was not going to cry,” Adam said, exasperated. His hand went to my lower back, guiding me toward the staircase. “James is going to use my bathtub and then she’s going to stay for dinner.”
“Got it.” Ted was already steering Ben into the kitchen. “Let’s go figure out what we’re going to make.”
I stared up the staircase. That was a lot of steps. The normal amount, probably, but right then it was daunting. My ribs had taken the brunt of the fall, but there wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t sore.
“Right,” I muttered. “This is going to hurt.”
It was the wrong thing to say. He had me off my feet and in his arms before I could take a single step.
“I told you not to carry me!” My outrage was feeble against the onslaught of squishy feelings from being held against his muscular chest.
“You told me not to carry you into the house. You said nothing about up the stairs. Totally different.”
“You wouldn’t carry Blaine up the stairs. Or Jesse.”
“I would if they needed me to.”
I actually believed him. But I also knew that need was a different standard. Both Blaine and Jesse would have to be on death’s door before they let Adam haul them up the stairs. “I don’t need you to.”
“Again, that’s different. Because in this case, I needed to carry you. I needed to not see you in pain.” He set me down at the top of the stairs and gave me the gentlest nudge. “This way.”
He led me into what was very obviously a bedroom. A queen-size bed was front and center, decked out in linens of a deep, masculine gray. The large window had matching gray drapes. A knotted pine dresser stood between what I assumed was the closet door and the bathroom door. Next to the left side of the bed was a pine table. The right side was empty, giving the room an unfinished look. That was the extent of the décor. No paintings, no framed photographs, no flowers, no mementos.
“Your room?” I asked, even though I knew it was. Something about the lonely nightstand gave it away. A different man might have bought the matching pair on the hope that someday there would be a woman to use it. Not Adam. Spending the rest of his life single was a foregone conclusion. He wanted it that way. No matter how the way he looked at me said otherwise.
“Yeah. I figured you’d be more comfortable here than Ted’s bathroom or the hall bathroom. And this one has the best tub.” He moved to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and removed a towel, which he tossed on the bed.
“You figured right.”
He stared at me for a beat. “You don’t have any clean clothes here,” he said as realization dawned that I was about to be fully naked.
“Right again.”
He stared at me for another second, assessing. “You can borrow a shirt and shorts from me. I’ll leave them on the bed for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Bathroom’s right there.” He jerked his head toward the door to the right of the dresser. “Epsom salts are under the sink. Holler if you need anything. I won’t be far.”
He was halfway out the door before I finally pushed his name from my suddenly dry mouth. “Adam.”
“Yeah?” He stopped and looked back at me.
I wet my lips nervously. “I need help.”
“You want me to run the bath for you?” He started for the bathroom without waiting for a response.
“I need you to get me out of my bra.”
He froze. “Come again?”
“Under normal circumstances, removing a sports bra is like wrestling an anaconda. It requires strength, endurance, and dexterity. Quite frankly, I’m lacking all three right now.” I lifted my tee shirt over my head. Slowly, carefully, painfully. “Getting the rest of my clothes off is going to be bad enough. A sports bra is beyond me.”
He frowned at my chest. “All right,” he gritted out. He took me by the shoulders and turned me so my back was facing him. “There’s no clasp.”
“I know. That’s what makes it hard. You’re going to have to cut me out of it.”
Silence.
His fingers flexed into my shoulders in a quick, involuntary spasm. I would have done anything to see his face right then…except show him mine. I kept my gaze glued to my pink boots, not daring to turn around.
“I’ll get the scissors.” His voice was polite. Distant.
I blew out a shallow breath as he disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, he returned, shutting the door behind him.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said grimly. Like it was punishment to cut my sports bra off my body.
He hooked a finger under the thick band, right between my breasts. I gasped as the heat of his finger was replaced with the cold steel of the scissors. His eyes shot to my face.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I didn’t expect it to be so cold. Keep going.”
He nodded, his brows pushed together into a dark slash across his forehead. With each cut of the fabric, my breasts expanded and his brows contracted. It was almost funny. The kind of funny where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
After the last snip, my mangled bra split open to reveal the inner curves of my breasts, and he raised his gaze to my face. He kept it there as he gently slid the bra from my shoulders and let it fall to the ground.
“Thank you.” Already it felt like I could breathe easier.
He plucked something from my hair and showed it to me. Hay. “You’re filthy.”
“Well, yeah. I was rolling around in the dirt.” My lips tilted into a rueful smile. “My hair is probably going to be sandy for a few days. I don’t think I can scrub it the way it needs right now.”
For some reason, that seemed to annoy him. “You won’t feel right until you’re clean.”
“I’ll be fine. Now let me—”
“I’ll do it. Come on, we’ll get you cleaned off in the shower and then you can soak in the tub until you’re ready for dinner.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
“I’ve already seen you naked. Hell, I’ve touched every part of you naked. I can wash your hair. Anyway, if you get in the tub now, you’re just going to be wallowing in your own filth.”
He had a point. Still, I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
His lips tilted in a wry smirk. “Buttercup, if I can survive cutting a bra off you, I can survive anything. Now let’s get you clean.”
I followed him into the bathroom, which was roughly the size of the bedroom. There were his-and-hers sinks, a toilet closet, a large shower, and—best of all—a deep soaking tub. I couldn’t hold back my gasp of delight.
His mouth quirked. “Yeah. My mom was a big fan of fancy bathrooms. And Dad was a fan of giving her everything she ever wanted.”
“It’s beautiful.” Both the bathroom and the sentiment behind it.
Adam toed off his boots and shucked his clothes with an unembarrassed efficiency that left me gaping at his naked body before I could gird myself. He squatted by my feet, his mouth inches from my pussy. I used his shoulders to keep my balance as he removed my boots and socks.
“This,” he said conversationally, “is so much worse than cutting off your bra.”
His breath tickled my belly, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m injured,” I ground out.
“Baby, I know that. You could lie spread-eagle on the bed, begging me to take you, and I still wouldn’t fuck you.” He unclasped my jeans and wiggled them gently down my legs. “You’re too precious for me to risk hurting you like that.”
Goddammit, this man. What was he trying to do to me?
“I was reminding myself, not you,” I groused. “Because certain body parts keep forgetting. And you…Don’t say things like that to me. It makes everything too confusing.”
He didn’t say anything to that, just turned the faucet so water sprayed from the showerhead. He tested the temperature with his hand, made an adjustment, tested again, then nudged me through the glass door, stepping in behind me.
I tilted my head back, letting the water soak my hair.
“Turn around, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said, even as I obeyed, giving him my back.
“As long as pain is twisting your mouth like that and you’re making those little whimpers, I’m calling you baby. You’re hurt,” he said quietly. “It feels inhuman to do anything else.”
My insides melted. Adam hid it well, but beneath all the grunts and scowls was a man who felt deeply. He was a caretaker at heart, no matter how hard he fought against it.
He squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his palm, rubbed his hands together, then got to work on my hair. Good lord, the man had magic hands. His fingertips kneaded my scalp with perfect pressure as he scrubbed away the sand and stress of the day.
“Okay,” I relented, barely biting back a moan as he gave my hair a gentle tug. “But not around other people.”
I turned around to rinse my hair and found him scowling. “What?”
“You’re covered in bruises.”
“Yeah,” I said drily. “I fell off a horse.”
“I don’t like it.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Calm down, daddy. Falling off is a part of riding. You said it yourself. I’m not the first to get thrown, and I won’t be the last.”
He turned me around again to apply conditioner. When he tried to put me back under the water, I stopped him. “It needs to soak in a while first.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “I don’t do that.”
“It doesn’t matter on short hair.” I stretched my arm up and ruffled his hair. It hurt, but it was worth it.
Apparently, Adam didn’t agree. He captured my wrist with a low growl. “Dammit. Don’t hurt yourself touching me.”
Unperturbed, I blew a raspberry at him and rinsed out my hair. “Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I’m fine.”
He grunted. I took that for agreement.
He rubbed the bar of soap between his palms until his hands were covered in a rich, scented lather. Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me against him, my ass nestled below his cock. He ran his soapy hands along my shoulders, breasts, and belly, cleaning me. My head fell back against his chest on a gasp.
One hand dipped between my legs, and I widened my thighs for him helpfully. Hopefully. But he refused to give me what I really wanted. I groaned in frustration.
He chuckled in my ear. “Come on, buttercup. You know that’s off limits.”
“Right. You’re my boss.” I moaned as he cleaned me with nowhere near enough pressure to get me off.
“I only care about that because you care about that. I care a lot more that you shouldn’t be doing any heavy breathing for the next few weeks.” His hand was still moving between my legs with soft, leisurely circles, even though we both knew that by now my pussy was cleaner than it had ever been.
My nails dug into his thighs for support. “I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t.”
He pushed me forward by my shoulders. I took a step, putting space between our bodies, and felt something poke me in my lower back. I glanced over my shoulder to see his cock, fully hard and jutting forward.
“Ignore that,” he murmured as he soaped my back. “I’ll handle it later.”
Handle? Hand-le? I snickered because I was a child.
“Liked that one, did you?” he asked, sounding pleased.
“Wait, you punned on purpose? You, Mr. Resting Grump Face.” I shook my head in mock disbelief. “Wait until I tell everyone. No one will believe it.”
“Yeah?” Amusement laced his voice. “You’re gonna tell everyone how I made a pun about jacking off while we showered together?”
I reconsidered. Then I pouted. I couldn’t tell anyone.
“James.” The thick, rough way he said my name licked down my spine, following the same path he trailed with his finger. “When I handle it? I’m going to think about you. The way you are now. Soap running down your back. Down your ass. Imagine it’s my cum.”
I shivered. Ached. “You fucking better.”
After a nice, hot soak in the most wonderful tub to ever exist, I came down the stairs wearing Adam’s clothes and smelling like his shampoo. It was a weird feeling. I wanted to cuddle my arms around myself, a poor substitute for who I really wanted. Sounds of banging pots and laughter led me to the kitchen, where I found Ted manning the stove, Adam doing dishes at the sink, and Ben at the table, poring over what looked like a pile of records.
I hesitated in the doorway, enjoying the scene. There was so much love in this room. Grief could have torn this family apart, but Adam had simply refused to allow it. He was the glue that held them together. I could have spent another hour there, soaking it in, admiring the way the muscles in Adam’s back bunched and moved beneath his gray t-shirt as he scrubbed a pan, but Ben spotted me.
“James! Come see what I found.”
“Sure,” I said, but I stayed rooted to the spot as Adam turned from the sink, his gaze heated as he took me in. He took two steps forward, hands soapy and reaching for me, then froze as my eyes widened. He blinked and scowled at his hands, like he had suddenly come to his senses.
Okay, now I felt awkward. Wearing his clothes, smelling like him, standing in his kitchen with bare feet and wet hair? Totally fine. Adam reaching for me like a quick kiss was how we always greeted each other? The most natural thing in the world. Pretending he was nothing more than my boss? Soooo awkward.
“What’s all this?” I asked Ben as I joined him at the table.
“I found Dad’s old record player.” Ben held up a Def Leppard album with a red triangle and bright mouths screaming. “It’s the music of his youth.”
“Hey, now.” Adam shot Ben a look of affectionate exasperation. “I wasn’t even born yet when those albums came out.”
I flipped through the stack. Most of them I had never heard of. Skid Row, Guns and Roses, Poison, White Snake. Definitely not the country music I had grown up with. Heavy on the hairspray and eyeliner. I quirked an eyebrow at Adam. “Pretty tough names for groups of boys rocking beach waves and shiny pants.”
“They’re performers,” Adam defended.
Ben peered over my arm. “They look weird.”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, kiddo,” Ted said somberly as he ripped open a box of macaroni and cheese, removed the packet of cheese powder, and dumped the rest of the contents into the pot of boiling water. “Your dad had a phase—”
“Dad!” Adam protested.
Ted grinned. “Picture this. Adam was sixteen and had just discovered a M?tley Crüe record and fell down the rabbit hole of eighties hair bands. But it wasn’t enough to listen to the music—always on vinyl because he was a snob—he had to have the whole look, too. Leather pants, grew his hair long, begged us until we finally let him get a perm—”
My gaze shot to Adam. “Oh, I’m picturing it, all right.”
He buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“Dad, no!” Ben laughed, his face flushed pink like he was suffering from second-hand embarrassment. Which he probably was. I, on the other hand, was enjoying first-hand glee.
“Yes, your dad was a huge dork,” Ted said. “Probably would have gotten his ass kicked daily if he weren’t the best tight end Aspen Springs High had ever seen.”
I didn’t know what a tight end was, but I was certainly a fan of Adam’s tight end. My gaze lingered on him. “I don’t suppose there’s any photographic evidence of this phase?”
“I’ll dig some up,” Ted promised.
“Dad,” Adam said. “You cannot show James those photos.”
Ted was apparently too engrossed in chopping jalape?os to hear him. I smothered a smile.
“Can we listen to something, Dad?” Ben asked hopefully.
Adam shrugged. “Sure, why not? Pick something.” He plugged in the record player, then took the album Ben held out and glanced at the cover. “Van Halen. This is a good one.”
He dropped the record in place, fiddled with something, and a second later, pulsing guitar and drumbeats filled the room.
“Show us how you danced to this, Adam.” Ted didn’t look up from his task, but a sly smile hovered on his lips.
From the way Adam’s eyes narrowed on his father, I fully expected him to say no. But Ben piped up, “Yeah, show us, Dad!” and Adam grabbed a dish towel and held the short edge to his head.
“Pretend this is hair,” he said.
I was still trying to process that very weird command when the singer screamed “Panamaaaa!” and Adam leaned forward, whipping his dish towel hair in perfect time to the music. Ted put down the knife and stared slack jawed at his son like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Ben doubled over with laughter, clutching my shoulder for support.
I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t do anything but sit there with a cheek-splitting grin on my face as I soaked in the sight of my grumpy cowboy, who carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, cutting loose like a complete goofball.
“And that’s how it’s done.” Adam tossed the dish towel aside, his face completely neutral like the whole performance was totally normal. But his eyes glimmered at me as he grabbed a clean dish towel and resumed drying the dishes. “It’s called headbanging.”
Ben slid to the floor in a heap of giggles. “Headbanging. Do another one!”
“My turn to pick.” Ted rinsed his hands and dried them on his jeans.
He flipped through the stack, made his selection, and placed it on the record player. I caught a glimpse of the cover. A band named Sheriff. I smirked. Tough name. Permed hair.
This song was different. Softer. Slower. Instead of driving drums, it began with a sweet melody tapped out on the piano. And then came the lyrics. I never needed love like I need you.
“You can’t headbang to this,” Ben complained.
“It’s a power ballad,” Adam said. “Every hair band needed a good power ballad. Guns N Roses had November Rain. Poison had Every Rose Has Its Thorn. And Sheriff had this. When I’m with You.”
“It’s a kissing song.” Ben made a disgusted face. “You can’t dance to it.”
Maybe it’s the way you touch me with the warmth of the sun.
Adam’s gaze snagged mine. The heat there made my insides tremble. Did that lyric make him think of what he said to me in the hotel room before we fell asleep? I kissed you because I was cold, and you are the fucking sun. Because suddenly that was all I could think about.
“You can dance to it,” Adam said. “Come here, James. We’ll show him.”
I could feel my skin flush as I let him pull me gently into his arms. My ribs hurt too much to lift my hands to his shoulders, so instead I wrapped them around his waist. His arms circled me like a hug. As we swayed to the music, our bodies flush against each other, his hand swept up my back and under my hair, where he gently squeezed my neck. The first power chords burst through.
Baby, I get chills when I’m with you.
But it wasn’t just the music coming from the record player I heard. It was Adam’s rough whisper in my ear as he sang the lyrics to me. My skin erupted in gooseflesh. Everything around us faded as the intimacy of the moment wrapped us up like a warm blanket. A sweet, achy feeling bloomed in my chest.
Oh, hell.
I was in trouble.
I knew it as the last strains faded and Adam slowly released me. Sex with Adam had been mind-bogglingly good. But this? The way he had so gently washed my hair? And now, dancing in the kitchen? This was something else.
This was something that could break my heart.