Chapter Twenty Nine #2
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Her and Gemma, my older sister. Gemma’s always loved planting—herbs, mostly. She loves the flowers, it was her favorite part of Honey Bea, but she’s got a hell of a green thumb. She created the recipe for the tea, and the salts.”
“You guys have quite the operation here,” I murmur around another sip. “What else do you make?”
Kade pauses for a beat, exhaling roughly, knees tightening around my shoulders. “I’m not really sure what they make or sell these days.”
There’s something thick, something painful, in his voice, and I turn, catching his eyes.
“Because you’ve been away?”
A sharp, tense nod. I kiss his knee—the only thing I can reach at this angle.
“You’re back now,” I whisper. “That’s what counts.” Grinning, I turn back around and shrug. “Besides, your mom has a new assistant who’s eager to learn the ropes around here, so for all you know, you might get replaced as her favorite child soon.”
His bark of laughter is magic to my ears, and the way he squeezes my shoulders, digging into my tense muscles, is magic to my system. I groan, body softening in his grip, and he takes it as his cue to work out the knots there.
“No doubt in my mind, darlin’. My mama loves you already.”
Warmth spreads through me, and I hide my happy smile in my drink.
Once I’m nearly a pile of happy goo, he moves to my hair. I watch with rapt attention as he picks up a bottle of leave-in for curls and squirts some into his palms. A sweet, sugary scent fills the air a second before his big, calloused hands begin working it through my hair.
My breath catches and the teacup almost slips.
“You’re… you’re doing this?”
“Of course I am.” He scoffs. “May not know what the fuck I’m doing, but Colby wrote a step-by-step list.”
“A list,” I repeat, dumbstruck.
I kind of just figured he was waiting on me to dive in and do it myself.
“If I can birth a calf in a thunderstorm and disarm a roadside IED, I can do your damn hair, baby.”
And just like that, he slips into the role of caretaker.
And I…
God, I let him.
His hands are slow, tender, never rushing. Massaging, detangling, moving with care. The silence between us is warm, and natural.
The sun climbs higher, casting golden light over the fields outside. The fire crackles softly. A tutorial plays low in the background, but I tune it out, content to sip my tea, nibble a cracker Bea packed, and revel in this luxury.
When he’s done prepping me, the blow-dryer hums. Warm air flutters over my curls, his fingers tugging gently, shaping. Quickly, the rhythm and sounds lull me into tranquility, but it’s the love and care in his movements that comforts me and heals me all at once.
But it’s the occasional rough glide of his calluses against my neck, my ear and throat, my scalp, that wake me up in a different way. I clench my thighs tighter, and my clit throbs in time with my heartbeat. Under my stolen shirt, my breasts are heavy and aching, my nipples begging for his touch.
I’m raw and wet and so very empty, but I loathe the idea of stopping him.
No one’s ever done this for me.
I think back to that day in the grocery store when I ran into him. The way he looked at me. Hovered nearby. Followed me like a shadow.
At the time, I thought it was to irritate me.
Now, I see it for what it really was. Kade loves to take care of people, and that day, I’d been on the floor, mid-breakdown, stomach growling, and frustrated with the lack of food choices.
Maybe he thought I’d been about to pass out, or maybe he just sensed how close I was to losing it—but he stayed.
Bugged me, followed me, but he stayed, just in case.
And he’s been doing it ever since.
He’s done it again and again—arguing with me, but still caring. Still seeing me. Still showing up.
And now… Aurora’s coming in a day or two. He should be worried about that. Instead, he’s here, taking care of me, protecting me, cherishing me.
My heart twists, body thrums, brain races…
But it’s my soul that cracks.
The blow-dryer clicks off and the room falls quiet—nothing but the sound of birds and wind outside, and the quiet crackle of the dying fire fills the air.
In true gentleman fashion, Kade doesn’t tell me to get up, or rush me out the door now that I’m feeling better. He doesn’t tell me to get dressed, or go home.
He just waits, letting me decide the next move.
Part of me wishes he’d stop being such a gentleman, but then I remember that day on the back of the horse—his hand down my pants, fingertips an inch from finding out just how soaked my pussy gets every time he’s near and I…
I stopped him.
Then I kissed him. Pulled away. Told him to take me back where I dutifully ignored him the whole time he repaired my tire like a spoiled maniac, and then…
Fucking hell, then I almost kissed him again, muttering nonsensical shit into his chest while I played with his beard.
I’m giving the man seven different versions of myself—of what I want. It’s mixed signals on steroids.
And I know, I know, Kade won’t be the one to make the next move. He won’t be the one to ask me what I want or take things between us to the next level. He stepped back because I was scared and told him to, and now…
Now I need to fix it.
His fingers skim through my dry hair, tangling in my curls, tugging in a way that sends a pulse directly to my wet core.
A shiver races through me, vibrating all the way down.
“Cold?” he rasps, shifting like he’s about to stand. “Lemme add another log—”
“No,” I breathe, hands snapping out to clench his legs.
Inside my chest, my heart is slamming against my ribs, but for once, every part of me is in agreement about what I want.
He freezes. “What?”
I stand on legs that are weak and trembling—not from the flare-up, but from him.
Two steadying breaths is all I let myself have, and then I slowly turn to face him.
Kade’s gray-and-blue-flecked eyes are dark with desire, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’s just as keyed up—just as strung out—as me.
“I’m not cold,” I murmur, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. It lifts an inch, and those dark, stormy eyes snap to the newly exposed skin like he’s committing them to memory.
“You shivered.”
“I know.” Another step.
His eyes flick to mine, searching. “Sick?”
“No.” My knees hit the couch and this time, it’s my gaze that falls, fixating on the way the hard length of his cock tents his sweats. The sight makes my mouth water.
He leans back into the couch and spreads his arms across the back, thighs falling open around me. Throat tight, body crying out for the feel of him, I climb onto his big lap, one knee at a time, bracing his thighs.
Like he can’t stand to not touch me either, his hands snap to my bare legs, fingers digging into my flesh with desperation I feel down to my bones.
“What are you doing, darlin’?” he rasps, voice rough.
I cradle his jaw, fingers weaving through his addictive, sexy-as-sin beard, and draw our mouths close, leaving only a breath between us.
“Wanting.”
And then my lips are on his