Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Boone roamed around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, looking inside, then closing it without pulling anything out. He’d done the same thing four times already, not because he was hungry but because he was bored.
It was midafternoon on Tuesday, and he should still be in the vineyard or at the winery, working with Maverick and Grayson. However, he’d cut the hell out of his hand right after lunch. Maverick tried to convince him to go to the ER, thinking he might need a few stitches, but
Boone refused.
He was no stranger to injuries, and while this one throbbed like a motherfucker, it would heal just fine.
At Maverick’s insistence—the man wouldn’t take no for an answer—he’d taken the rest of the day off to come home, treat the wound, then take it easy so he wouldn’t keep reopening it.
Antiseptic and a butterfly bandage had done the trick as far as stopping the bleeding, but now he was left with too much time to think about what had distracted him and caused him to cut his damn hand in the first place.
Mila.
He hadn’t been able to think of anything except her since that ill-advised kiss after the dance.
What in the sweet mother fuck had he been thinking?
Actually, he knew the answer to that.
He hadn’t been thinking. He couldn’t.
His cock had drawn every drop of blood from his brain the second he’d walked into that Valentine’s Dance and seen Mila in that flouncy, flirty, sexy red skirt.
Between that and the silky white blouse that kept giving him sneak peeks of her perfect cleavage, he’d been reduced to a silent, smoldering mass of testosterone.
He didn’t need anyone to tell him he’d been the least-stimulating conversationalist at the table he shared with Maverick, Grayson, and several other Storm brothers.
His contributions throughout the night had been little more than one-word replies and a few grunts of agreement in between stealing a whole lot of glances at Mila.
Boone supposed he should be grateful to Maverick for inviting him to join his table, Sadie claiming a spot with Piper and her family.
Upon arriving, his dick had homed in on Mila, seeing nothing but her and the empty seat beside her.
God only knew what kind of damage he could have done if he’d been sitting next to her the entire evening.
The simple whiff of her floral perfume during their dance had sent his thoughts down dirty, dirty paths.
Boone figured Maverick had done him a solid, saving him from himself by drawing him away from her and presenting him with a much safer place to sit.
If his cock hadn’t been running the show, he never would have asked Mila to dance. He’d been proud of himself for remaining in his seat as each slow song started, his “don’t do it” pep talk running on repeat. Unfortunately, his resolve only persisted—barely—until the deejay called out “last dance.”
He’d seen the pastor making his way over to Mila, and all common sense flew out the window. Boone had already white-knuckled it through Pastor Joshua holding Mila through one dance. He didn’t have it in him to do it twice.
The slow dance with her had wreaked havoc on his libido, and he’d had to take special care to make sure Mila didn’t feel the half-chub he sported throughout.
The dance had been just the first of several missteps that night. Because he should have accepted Remi’s invitation to the after-party, simply to keep him in a crowd of people who could distract him from Mila.
The problem with that option was, he suspected Mila would have said yes to attending in that case, and he hadn’t liked the dark circles under her eyes.
She’d worked herself into a state of exhaustion, preparing the food and decorating the barn.
He hated that no one in her family seemed to notice how tired she looked, that no one was making sure she took care of herself.
So he’d offered that lame excuse about Sadie needing to get to bed, even though he didn’t enforce bedtimes on the weekend, something his night owl daughter took full advantage of.
From that point on, his list of fuckups grew exponentially when he offered to walk Mila home, then stopped several times along the way, simply so that he could draw out his time with her.
Most of his other interactions with her since he’d moved to Gracemont had involved other people. Even the glasses of wine they shared after their Tuesday night cooking lessons were tempered by the fact Sadie was in the next room.
As Boone recalled that walk home—and the kiss—he was overwhelmed by guilt and regret.
Sadly, neither of those emotions were driven by the fact he shouldn’t have kissed her.
Nope. They were the result of him pulling away from her. Because, as incredible as it seemed, he was damn sure Mila had been on the verge of coming…from nothing more than his hands on her breasts and his thigh between her thrusting hips.
And he’d left her hanging.
She’d said his name, along with that breathless “please,” and it felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on his head.
But it wasn’t until he broke the kiss and stepped away that he’d realized just how close she was—her pupils blown wide, her breathing labored, her hard nipples straining through her bra and blouse as her chest rose and fell heavily.
Boone prided himself on his control, on his ability to handle difficult situations calmly and rationally, but none of that had been present as he watched her fight to lock down her body’s needs before walking away.
Hell, he couldn’t remember managing to say more than her name as Mila had done her best to put them back on firmer footing with humor. She’d let him off way easier than he deserved, and he’d spent the three days since kicking his own ass for…well…all of it.
But mainly for leaving her wanting.
Boone dropped down on the couch and rubbed his brow wearily.
Sadie would be home from school soon. He had no idea if Mila was coming for their weekly cooking lesson.
There was a good chance she didn’t want a damn thing to do with him, and he wouldn’t blame her.
He and Sadie hadn’t gone to Sunday dinner because she’d had a bad headache and asked if it was okay if she just stayed in bed.
While he hated that his daughter had been hurting, she’d offered him a much-needed excuse to avoid Mila until he got his shit together.
His shit was still not together.
Leaning his head back against the couch, Boone closed his eyes, revisiting that moment in the woods again.
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t put the memory of it away, couldn’t stop dreaming about Mila’s hands in his hair, how sweet her breath tasted, the way her breasts filled his hands perfectly.
Groaning, he shut those thoughts down.
Mila was too young.
She was a Storm.
She wanted more than he could give.
While they hadn’t discussed her desires for the future, Boone suspected she wanted what most women her age did. Marriage, kids, a home. And she deserved all of that with a man closer to her age, and with a hell of a lot less baggage.
When his cell rang, Boone shifted, leaning toward the coffee table where he’d set his phone after getting home.
He scowled when he saw Lena’s name on the screen.
For a moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail.
After all, she knew he worked until well after five every day.
Even though he was home right now, she didn’t know that.
Not that it mattered. Lena called when the spirit moved her, not when it was convenient for him.
Mercifully, she didn’t call that often, which was why he reached for the phone and answered.
“Lena.”
“Hello, Boone,” she said sunnily. Lena was very good at ignoring things she didn’t want to see, so she’d never given any indication that she felt the annoyance and impatience that rolled off him in waves whenever they spoke privately. “I’m so glad I caught you. It’s been a crazy day already.”
Lena launched into a five-minute recitation of how her boyfriend’s car had broken down and left her stranded at the manicurist, how her new boss had gotten pissed off and fired her for being late, and how she didn’t care about the loss because she’d planned to quit the job anyway because it sucked.
Lena went through minimum-wage jobs the way most people went through underwear.
In addition to her commitment issues, she also struggled to deal with rules—like showing up to work on time, not texting while there, and not getting into it with customers when they complained.
As such, she spent at least half the year looking for work, the other half bitching about her job.
She managed to get away with her part-time unemployment because she excelled at finding guys who would foot the bills.
Lena’s overactive dating life after their divorce was the main reason Boone had eschewed relationships.
He figured it fell to him to provide stability for Sadie, since nothing in Lena’s life was constant.
He’d lost count of how many men Lena had told Sadie to call “Uncle Whatever.” Like her jobs, the men never lasted long, something that had bothered Sadie a great deal when she was younger.
Nowadays, his daughter took Lena’s breakups in stride, and to be honest, he didn’t know which was worse.
Boone worried what long-term effects Lena’s revolving door of lovers might have on Sadie when she was older.
“Was there a point to this call?” Boone interjected, when Lena came up for air.
She sighed. “You don’t have to be rude,” she snapped. “We haven’t spoken since the holidays. I thought you might be interested in what’s been going on in my life.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve ever done that’s given you the impression I care about what you do.”