Chapter 6 #2
When he's gone, I move to the window, scanning the property, and Asha flops onto the bed.
"What does AI mean? He kept using that term, and I couldn't for the life of me put it together," she asks, clearly flustered that she didn't have the answer to something for once.
"Artificial insemination," I answer evenly, turning from the window.
"Gah, I can't believe I couldn't come up with that." Palm to forehead, she adds, "I should have known that."
"Nah, you're used to horses," I say, unbuttoning the top button of my polo, for comfort. "Thoroughbreds still have strict laws against AI breeding. It's not something we often encounter every day in the arenas we work in."
She kicks her feet and pounds her fists against the bed like a small child throwing a tantrum.
I've never seen her lose control. Even when she's on the attack, she does it with complete, practiced control, as if she knew her opponent's move before they made it.
Asha is smart; she's smarter than smart.
And while I think it's cute that something stumped her, I know that can only mean her attention is divided.
She's here, but her mind isn't. So where is it?
Then calmly, she stares at the ceiling and asks, "What are we supposed to do for the next hour?"
"I'd be more than happy to walk through the differences between AI and natural conception. Maybe you need a refresher. Knocking off the dust might help bring it all back," I say, casually leaning against the bedpost. "I can take off my clothes or you—"
"You're joking, right?" she deadpans.
"Only if you want me to be," I say with a devilish smile. Definitely not joking.
She grabs her chest and mocks silent laughter.
"Laugh all you want. I just didn't want you to show up to dinner ill-prepared. I know how you hate it when you're not the smartest person in the room."
"Stop…" she exaggerates, the word drawn out with playful exhaustion before rolling to her side. Propping her head up on her bent arm, she studies me with those calculating eyes.
The playfulness between us dissolves into something heavier, and I can't hold her gaze.
"You should go freshen up," I finally manage, my voice rougher than I intended as I nod toward the bathroom. "I'll go after you."
She doesn't move immediately, just watches me with an expression I can't quite read. Then she slides off the bed, padding barefoot across the room. When the bathroom door clicks shut, I find my way to the loveseat and sit heavily before dropping my head back against the pillows and closing my eyes.
Temporary. That's what I agreed to, and I have to remember it, even if temporary was never my plan.
I drag my hand down my face and lean back, but every stolen moment, every time she looks at me like maybe there's something more building between us, I fall deeper.
If I can't earn her heart, if she walks away when this is over.
.. The certainty hits like a fist: losing her might actually break me.
The water turns on in the bathroom, and my eyes flash open. Get it together. You just have to earn her. Somehow, I have to make her see that what we have is worth keeping. That this could never be temporary.
By six-thirty, we've both freshened up. I went through my emails, did some research on solar wells, and rodeo breeding vs fighting.
Bulls are aggressive by nature. If anything, rodeo breeding makes them more docile as they become somewhat accustomed to human interaction, opposed to fighting bulls which are raised with minimal human interaction.
All that matters is that at their core, both want bulls with energy, stamina, and strength.
"Ready?" she asks from the doorway, her tone clipped and businesslike.
Asha emerges from the bathroom in a simple sundress that Dar had sent up for her. I don't like the thought of another man dressing my woman for dinner—a fact I'm sure she saw written all over my face the second a maid brought it to the room. I didn't like it, therefore she did.
We make it halfway down the stairs before she breaks the silence. "Is the dress okay?"
Of course she's worried about the dress.
About appearances. About playing her part perfectly for the cameras, for Dar and Mateo—for everyone but me.
At the bottom of the steps, I stop and turn to face her, letting my eyes travel over every exposed inch deliberately, slowly, taking my time in a way I know will get under her skin.
She shifts her weight, that familiar fire sparking in her eyes. "Oh, come on, you saw it when I walked out of the bathroom, and you didn't say anything."
"Sweetheart," I draw out, letting the endearment drip with just enough edge to remind her how much she hates when I use it, "I wasn't looking at the dress. I was looking at you."
She tenses, and for a second, that careful mask slips. Then her chin tilts up, defiant. "Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because it sounds like you were ignoring my question."
"You want me to comment on the dress?" I step closer, crowding her space just enough to make her bristle. "Fine. It's blue. It fits. Happy?"
"You're an ass," she mutters, but there's color rising in her cheeks now, and we both know it's not from anger.
"And you're stalling." I lean in, lowering my voice. "What are you really asking me?"
Her eyes flash. "I'm asking if I look appropriate for a business dinner, not fishing for your approval."
"Right. Because God forbid you'd actually care what I think."
"Why would I?" she shoots back, but her fingers tighten on my arm, betraying her. "You've made your feelings about me perfectly clear over the years."
"My feelings?" I stare at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means." There's old hurt in her voice now, buried under the anger. "I'm good enough to be your temporary wife, but I was never good enough to be—"
"To be what?" I press, but she's already shutting down.
"I'm not—" She cuts herself off, jaw clenched, and looks away. "Forget it. Let's just get through this dinner."
Men's loafers click across the terracotta floors. "There you are," Mateo says, coming down the hall. "I thought maybe you got lost, the two of you."
Asha smiles, "No, I just took a little longer changing. The dress Dar sent up for me is beautiful."
"No, Mrs. Asha, it's the woman who makes the dress beautiful," he says before extending his arm. "Come, have a drink," he says, motioning for us to follow him.
I let him get a few steps ahead before tightening my hold on my wife. "This conversation isn't over."
She doesn't give me her face, and even from the side, I can tell it wouldn't matter.
It gives nothing away. We turn the corner, and the expansive living room comes into view.
High ceilings crossed by exposed beams and windows that frame the property.
A bar cart sits in the corner, and Mateo is there, pouring something amber into glasses.
Two other men stand nearby—ranch hands, by the look of them.
"Whiskey okay? It's local, from a distillery about forty miles south," Mateo asks, handing each of us a glass.
"Perfect," I say. "Will Dar be joining us for drinks?"
"Yes," he says, "Will you excuse me for a moment?” His eyes flash over to someone else entering the room.
"How many people are coming to dinner?" Asha asks, taking a look around.
"I'm not sure," I say, flexing my left hand, the covering on my finger a little stiff.
"That might be too tight. Your hand looks slightly hued compared to your other."
Now she acts like she gives a damn. Hot and cold this woman is. I'm beginning to think her mood swings are intentional. She knows she's driving me crazy and enjoys watching every second of my suffering.
"It'll be fine," I say, taking a long drink of the whiskey Mateo handed me.
She nods toward the wall. "I'm going to look at the paintings. You should mingle and find out who these people are. If they're invited to dinner, they're likely important to Dar."
The conversation flows easily enough. A few of the men in attendance work on the ranch, and the other two couples are friends staying in town for the week.
They've already recommended a few must-see destinations for us if we decide to extend our stay.
I'm halfway through the story about our drive up when I see him again—the man who was on the porch this morning.
The same one I could have sworn I felt watching me through the windows and across the garden.
He has that same stillness, but in the light, I can see his presence isn't as ominous as I originally thought. He can't be much older than me. Late twenties max, but with the shadows gone, there's something else I notice. He was never watching me. He was watching her.
I've just put the two together when I watch him stalk across the room to where Asha is standing beside one of the women visiting Dar on holiday. My hand tightens around my glass, and then my feet are moving.
"Excuse me, but I was curious if we’ve met before?” I hear him ask as I close the distance.
That's it. That's his pick-up line?
Asha's eyes narrow on him, and she takes a second to collect his features. "I don't think so, but you do feel oddly familiar."
"What's your name?" he presses.
"Asha," she answers. I instantly hate how she doesn't add my name to hers.
"Asha…" He draws her name out slowly. "Is it just Asha, or do you have a last name?"
"Hale. Her last name is Hale," I answer for her, stepping up to her back and eliminating any space that remained between us.
Fuck, wrong move. I'm instantly aware of the curve of her round ass pressed firmly against my groin.
Every logical thought tells me to step aside and reposition myself.
I'm supposed to be immune to my fake wife, but she can already feel that I'm not, and I'm about three seconds away from remembering why I need to be.