Chapter Nine
S eneca sat at her kitchen counter trying to make a to-do list for Monday.
Every time she wrote one thing down, her mind would start thinking about Colton.
She wondered what he was doing, what he was wearing, and if he smelled like fresh water or something spicy like the sexy scent that filled her senses while his body filled hers earlier in the day.
Thinking about his smell led her down the dangerous path of memories informed by her sense of touch and taste. She could remember how hot Colton’s skin was when pressed against hers, and how good his cock felt sliding in and out of her while her muscles tightened around him.
“Enough, Seneca. Get it together.”
The way her body still burned after their romp this morning was proof Colton was becoming more of a problem than she wanted. She had to get him out of her system, force her body to forget about the pleasure he’d generously gifted her with, and move on with her life.
That was a near impossible task, though. Not just because the sex was so damn good. It was. There was no doubting that. But it was more about the way her mind kept turning over the unanswered questions she had about his past.
“Damn you, Holden Eames.” The mention of his name alone made her seethe.
If that sneaky son of bitch hadn’t forced his way into her head by ambushing her at the diner, she’d be able to walk away.
But after speaking to Storm, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to Colton than his quiet but forward nature.
She tapped her pen against the half-empty page, unsuccessfully trying to snap herself out of her distracted state. “This doesn’t concern you. You don’t want him in your business. Stay out of his and focus on your work.”
Not with the amount of tension that’s been running through your body since you left him to go get lunch. Who do you think you’re fooling?
Her conscience’s memory was perfect as usual, reminding her of how easily she’d given in to Colton. How she’d practically begged him to screw her six ways from Sunday, and even though she’d spent hours in his arms, it still wasn’t enough.
“Well, it’s gonna have to be. That can never happen again.” Seneca sighed when she glanced at her watch and realized she’d been standing in the same spot for nearly thirty minutes with nothing to show for it. Not even the completed to-do list she desperately needed to keep herself organized.
This was not working. Nope, not at all. She needed to get over this attraction and quickly.
Her thirst for this man had more to do with the personal seclusion she’d imposed upon herself than Colton himself.
That had to be the only reason she’d burned out the damn batteries in her vibrator with images of him dancing behind her closed lids before he’d arrived on the ranch and why she still wasn’t satisfied after spending a lust-filled morning with him in her bed.
She was horny. That’s all this was—an itch that needed to be scratched. She’d spent seven years in prison, and another year putting all her energy into helping Aja get this ranch together. Of course, she was hard up and tripping over the first man to pay her a little attention.
Convinced her uneasiness was just the product of loneliness, she decided she needed to get out, get social, and spend a little less of her nonworking time in Colton’s presence.
Once she did that, she’d be fine, and this unhealthy obsession she seemed to have with him would be over.
Until then, a fresh set of batteries would have to do the trick, because letting Colton back into her good graces was a no-go.
“You done daydreaming at the counter or you skipping dinner at the main house today?” Brooklyn walked in through the front door of the cabin and headed toward the counter where Seneca sat. “You keep missing Aja’s meals and she’s gonna take offense.”
“Aja knows I’m trying to get her network up and running. I’m almost done. Can you say the same, Ms. Architect? You ready for the pending inspection?”
Brooklyn took a deep breath as she shifted from one long leg to another. “Honestly?” Brooklyn answered. “I’m not really sure.”
“What’s going on, Brooklyn?”
“Early last week, the city inspector told me to give him a call when I was ready to set up a date for the inspection. He seemed excited about the prospects of the ranch resort and wanted to see what all we’d come up with design wise.
But when I called him yesterday to set up a date, he kinda blew me off. ”
The hairs on the back of Seneca’s neck stood up. It had only been a little more than twenty-four hours. Surely, Hastings couldn’t have intervened that quickly.
“I mean, it’s been a day, Brooklyn. Sit your impatient ass down and give the man a chance to hit you up. Not everyone suffers from Right Now syndrome the way you do.”
Brooklyn shrugged. “Listen, other folks could stand to be as expedient and efficient as me. I get shit done.”
She certainly did. It was one of the things Seneca loved about her friend.
She was focused and decisive in ways Seneca would never be.
That’s what made Brooklyn so dependable.
And in a world where nothing was certain except death and taxes, having a fixed variable like Brooklyn in your life could get you through the worst of times.
“I know we’re supposed to be all lovey-dovey with the town and all,” Brooklyn continued, “but I don’t trust these people not to screw us over because of something small. I’m trying to make sure everything passes with flying colors.”
A small ping of regret tugged at Seneca’s heart. Her friend was working overtime trying to make everything perfect for their benefactor, and what was Seneca doing? Lusting after a man.
Get your life, girl.
“Brooklyn, your designs are great, the construction company did a great job erecting the buildings. Everything is gonna be fine.”
“I hope so,” Brooklyn responded. “Aja worked hard to help us. It’s our turn to make her dreams come true.”
Seneca nodded, her throat becoming tight with emotion when she thought of everything Aja had sacrificed to help Seneca and Brooklyn rebuild their lives.
People being released from prison didn’t often land on their feet with a good paying job, a beautiful home, and a ready-made support system that consisted of their boss and her family.
Prison was often a revolving door. Not always because people didn’t want to do better, but because the outside world often wrote you off once you checked that little box on a job application asking if you’d ever been convicted of a crime.
You were stripped of basic civil rights like voting, and then the world acted as if they were always waiting to catch you in the middle of a criminal act.
It was no wonder recidivism rates were high. How could a person be expected to rebuild their lives when the world wouldn’t let you?
They were fortunate, and Brooklyn was right—it was time for Seneca to get her act together and do right by Aja. After all, the woman had always done right by the two of them. If only Seneca knew exactly how to make it right.
She was certain both Aja and Brooklyn would rally around her if they knew what was going on.
But telling them would put them in Hastings’s crosshairs.
Aja would jump into superhero mode, no doubt escalating the matter by trying to use the legal system to fight back.
Knowing Hastings, he wouldn’t take that lying down.
Aja had already had her life put in danger by all of this mess surrounding Hastings and the ranch.
Seneca wasn’t willing to put her in harm’s way again.
Brooklyn, on the other hand, she was another story altogether. With a temper like hers, Seneca had no doubt her former cellmate would land right back in a cell for taking Hastings out because he’d tried to blackmail Seneca.
Again, Seneca couldn’t risk that kind of harm coming to fruition because she was too weak to handle things on her own.
Fortified with renewed focus, she hugged Brooklyn and finished her to-do list. She had just laid her pen down when an incoming text notification pinged her phone.
“Shit,” she muttered as she read the text. “Like I need this right now.”
“Everything all right?”
Seneca glanced up from her phone to look at her friend. “It’s Mr. Bitterman. He says the two servers I ordered are on backorder. Company says it could be anywhere from a couple of weeks to a few months.”
“Can you hold out that long or are you gonna cancel the order and order from someplace else?”
Seneca was about to answer Brooklyn’s question when another message notification made her glance at her phone.
She looked down at the text and saw the sender was anonymous.
But the words “Are we still playing by your rules, or are you ready to play by mine?” rang too familiar for her to pretend she didn’t know who was on the other end.
“Seneca?”
The sound of her name coming from the opposite side of the room forced her to look away from the phone.
“Sorry, missed that. What’s up?”
Brooklyn was walking toward the front door. “Someone’s knocking. You expecting company?”
“Don’t answer that!” Panic began to settle in her bones.
The puzzled look on Brooklyn’s face was full of unanswered questions that Seneca didn’t have time to respond to.
She had to get Brooklyn out of here. If that was Hastings, she didn’t want her friend dragged into the mess the sheriff was trying to stir up.
“No need to yell,” Brooklyn said with a raised eyebrow, still scanning Seneca from across the room. “Everything okay with you? You seem hella jumpy.”