Chapter 4 #4
Mila wasn’t wild and outgoing like her sister Remi.
He wouldn’t call her a wallflower, but she projected a quiet, sweet, almost timid personality.
Apparently, it made it easy for most men in Gracemont to overlook her, though he couldn’t understand how.
Their paths hadn’t crossed more than a few times in the past three weeks, and yet any time she was in the vicinity, every single one of his nerve endings flared to life, his attention drawn to and locked on her.
She was the only thing he could see.
“So what kind of man do you want to ask you out?” Even as Boone asked the question, a bright light and siren blasted in his mind, screaming “red alert!”
Mila took a moment to consider her answer, though Boone suspected she knew exactly how to respond. When she looked away, he realized she didn’t intend to answer honestly.
“I don’t know.”
Yep. Liar.
Despite knowing better, Boone reached out and cupped her cheek, forcing her to face him again. “Yes, you do.”
She swallowed heavily, and he lowered his hand, even though it felt wrong not to touch her.
“I want a man who’ll challenge me,” she whispered. “Someone strong and gentle at the same time. Confident, not shy or weak, but not arrogant. I want someone who sees me for who I am—who I really am—and likes me, flaws and all.”
Her words struck deep, because Boone saw who she was. He had from the first moment she fell off that ladder and into his arms.
Mila was submissive and sweet. And if he let himself claim her, she would most likely be his perfect match.
But he thought he’d found that perfect match before, and she hadn’t been. God, she really hadn’t been. It made him question his instincts because it was clear he couldn’t tell the different between love and lust, and that was a problem.
Boone backed away from her on the couch. Just slightly, but enough that she noticed. He saw the instant that damn wariness he’d provoked the first night they met returned. For most of the evening, she’d been at ease, comfortable with him, and it felt good.
Now, he ruined it again.
“Thank you for the cooking lesson, Mila. Dinner was delicious. You’re an incredible cook.”
Mila lifted one shoulder. “You did most of the wor—”
Boone reached out, her chin pinched between his thumb and forefinger before he could even think about it. “Don’t diminish your actions. You prepared the lion’s share of that meal, so I’m paying you a well-earned compliment.”
Mila unconsciously licked her lips, though he wasn’t sure if that was from nerves or arousal.
“I…” she whispered breathlessly, her eyelids fluttering.
“Say thank you,” he murmured in a deep, commanding tone.
“Thank you.”
“Good girl,” he praised.
Boone heard Mila’s quick intake of breath, felt the shiver that coursed through her. Or maybe that was him shaking.
He lowered his hand, resting it in his lap to hide his rapidly growing erection.
Those two words had jerked them both, impacted them more than they should have.
Mila’s blush grew darker, and Boone had to look away before he did something insane—like drag her to his bedroom and tie her to his bed for the rest of their lives.
He closed his hands into fists to resist that urge.
He wasn’t sure what Mila saw, but whatever it was, clearly it was enough to have her standing quickly.
“I should head home.”
Boone stood as well, glancing outside and frowning. Mila walked everywhere, traipsing along the farm’s paths no matter the time or temperature. He hated it, but she wasn’t his. It wasn’t his job to forbid it.
“I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.” He watched as she attempted a carefree smile. Like him, she wasn’t selling it. “I can walk around this farm with my eyes closed.”
His scowl darkened enough that her grin faded. “It’s pitch black outside and seventeen degrees. You’re not walking home.”
Before Mila could disobey—fuck, disagree—with him, he crossed over to Sadie’s room, knocking on the door before opening it. “I’m going to run Mila home really quick, Donut.”
Sadie bounced off her bed, approaching him. “Okay.” Peering through the door, she added, “Good night, Mila. Thanks for dinner!”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can you come give Dad another cooking lesson tomorrow? I’m in the mood for meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
Boone shook his head as Mila laughed. Then, he grabbed his keys as Mila pulled on her coat.
He kept his hands by his sides as they walked to the truck, careful not to touch her again when he opened the passenger door for her.
Climbing behind the wheel, he drove the less than a mile between his cabin and her farmhouse. She gave him an exasperated “I told you so” grin when they made it to her place in under two minutes.
Because he wanted to make sure his lesson stuck, he said, “Thank you for dinner.”
“It was your—” She pulled up short, quickly changing directions. “You’re welcome.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say good girl, but if he did that, he’d follow it up by pulling her over the console and onto his lap and fucking her until she understood exactly what it meant to be his good girl.
Shit. First thing he was going to do when he got home was take another cold shower, because his thoughts had turned on him and were suddenly enemy number one.
“Thank you for dinner.” Mila had just the right amount of brattiness in her tone, and he chuckled.
“You’re welcome.”
She reached for the door handle. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
After spending the evening with her, Boone wasn’t looking forward to her going back to avoiding him again. Self-preservation flew out the window when he said, “I wouldn’t mind another cooking lesson. Maybe early next week?”
She was clearly surprised by his request. If he was lucky, maybe she’d find the strength to keep the distance between them.
If not…
“I’d like that. We could make it a weekly thing if you’d like. Every Tuesday?”
Boone signed his own death warrant when he nodded. “Every Tuesday would be just fine.”
Mila smiled widely. “We’ll start with meatloaf for Sadie. I have a great recipe I think you’ll both like.”
“Text me the ingredients and I’ll make sure we have everything we need.”
“Okay.” Mila opened the door.
He got out as well.
“You don’t have to walk me to the door.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, the two of them climbing the front steps side by side. “Your sisters home?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Lock the door behind you.”
She nodded. “I will. Good night, Boone.”
“Night, Mila.”
He waited until he heard her throw the lock, then he walked back to his truck.
Sighing as he put it in drive, he was painfully aware that he was in big, big trouble when it came to Mila Storm.