16. Wrenley
SIXTEEN
WRENLEY
T he guesthouse door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds like finality.
I lean against it, chest heaving like I’ve run a marathon instead of just tucking in a five-year-old.
Ivy had requested three stories after somehow becoming re-energized in the bathtub, her little fingers playing with my hair as I read about brave unicorns and midnight adventures.
She’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, one hand clutching my wrist.
“Don’t go,” she’d mumbled in her sleep.
Now, in the quiet of my temporary home, those words resonate.
My riding clothes smell like hay and horse and Saint’s cologne from when he’d steadied me. I should shower. I should pack. Miss Erin starts the day after tomorrow, and I need to be ready to leave.
Instead, I stand frozen, replaying every one of Saint’s looks, every touch that lingered on my skin.
“After she’s asleep, we need to talk.”
Once I’m showered and changed, I check my phone. It’s been thirty minutes since I left the main house. Is that enough time? Too much? God, why am I analyzing this like a teenager?
A knock makes me jump. Three short raps that somehow sound decisive and uncertain at once.
My heart’s in my throat as I open the door.
Saint stands on my small porch, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s changed out of the ranch clothes, back in dark jeans and a Henley that clings in all the right places. No more cowboy hat, but my body remembers exactly how he looked wearing it.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Can I come in?”
I step aside wordlessly. He enters, bringing that dangerous energy that’s been simmering between us all day. The guesthouse suddenly feels impossibly small.
“You wanted to talk,” I prompt when he just stands there, tension radiating from every line of his body. “I know you probably don’t want to leave Ivy alone too long, so…?”
“That’s not what I want.” His voice is curt, honest. Saint pulls his phone from his back pocket and shows me the image of Ivy sleeping peacefully in bed. “And I’m monitoring her, so we don’t need to rush.”
“Then what did you want to talk about?”
“You know what I want.” He turns to face me fully, and the pure hunger in his expression makes me forget how to exhale. “The question is, what do you want. Because if you tell me to leave right now, I will. I’ll walk out, and on Monday, Erin takes your place, and we pretend none of this happened.”
I close my mouth, but the sheer want swelling my throat also peels apart my lips. “And if I don’t tell you to leave?”
He takes a step closer. “Then I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do since you trespassed on my property and tried to throw a skillet at me.”
My pulse thunders in my ears. “Which is?”
Another step. He’s close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “Everything, Wrenley. I want everything.”
“That’s not fair.” My voice comes out breathier than intended. “You’re the one who hired someone else. You’re the one who?—”
“I know.” His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw.
“I’m an idiot. A complete fuck. I thought if I could just get you out of my house, I could stop this.
” He breaks off, thumb tracing my bottom lip.
“But then you walked into my kitchen this morning in those damn shorts, and Rome put his hands on you, and I realized I’d rather set myself on fire than watch you leave. ”
“Saint—”
“Tell me to go.” His other hand finds my waist, pulling me against him until I can feel every ridge of him pressing against my stomach. “Tell me this is a bad idea. Tell me you don’t feel this too.”
“I can’t.” The admission breaks free on a whisper. “I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But I can’t stop wanting you.”
He makes a sound low in his throat. “Thank Christ.”
Saint’s mouth crashes down on mine, and it’s nothing like I imagined. It’s desperate, consuming, a week of pent-up desire unleashed in a single kiss. I gasp against his lips, and he takes advantage, stroking me with his tongue until all I can taste is him.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging until he groans. He walks me backward until I hit the wall, his body caging me in.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mutters against my throat, pressing hot kisses to my pulse point. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Walking around my house, looking at me with those eyes?”
“Me?” I laugh breathlessly, arching as he finds a sensitive spot. “You’re the one who—oh god—who keeps finding excuses to touch me. Who stares at me like…”
“Like I want to lick you clean?” He pulls back, eyes dark with promise. “Because I do. I want my tongue on every inch of you. Want to find out what sounds you make when I?—”
“Stop talking.” I yank him back down. “Show me.”
Saint lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically.
He’s already moving, kissing me senseless as he navigates the small hallway. When he sets me on the bed, I try to pull him down with me, but he resists.
“Wait.” He’s breathing hard, hair messed from my fingers. “If we do this…”
“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this now?”
“No.” He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of me. “I’m trying to tell you this can’t fix anything. Erin still starts on Monday.”
My heart sinks, but I lift my chin. “I’m well aware.”
“Are you?” He traces my cheekbone. “Because I need you to understand. I can’t offer you what a normal man can. One your age. But I don’t know what this is between us. I just know I can’t watch you leave town without...”
“Without what?”
“Without knowing what you taste like everywhere.” His eyes burn into mine. “Without hearing you come apart under me. Without having this, even if it’s just once.”
His blunt honesty should hurt. But instead, it sets me on fire. Because at least he’s not lying. At least he’s not pretending this is something it’s not .
“I’m not asking for promises,” I whisper. “I’m not even asking you to figure out what this is tonight.”
“Then what are you asking for?”
I pull him down until our lips are seconds apart. “I’m asking you to stop overthinking and just be with me. Tomorrow will still be complicated. The new nanny will still come. But right now? Right now, I just want you.”
He groans, capturing my mouth in a kiss that’s all desperation and adrenaline. “You have no idea how much I’ve needed to hear that.”
“So stop talking,” I repeat against his lips, reaching for his shirt. “Off. Now.”
His mouth claims mine again as I tug his shirt upward, desperate to feel his skin against my palms. Saint breaks the kiss just long enough to rip the Henley over his head, revealing the full canvas of ink that I’ve only glimpsed between shadows.
Dark lines swirl across his chest, down his ribs, disappearing beneath his waistband.
I trace a finger along a constellation of stars etched under one pec.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
“Your turn,” he growls, his hands finding the hem of my shirt.
I lift my arms, letting him pull it off.
Saint drags his teeth across his lower lip when he sees my white bra. Nothing fancy, but the want in his eyes makes me feel like I’m wearing the finest lingerie.
“Christ, look at you,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down my sternum.
His hand pauses at my shoulder, thumb ghosting over the raised lines we’ve both been pretending don’t exist. The scars that led to our fight, to my walls slamming up, to his frustrated silence. His eyes flick to mine, a question there.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Not tonight. ”
Something passes over his face. It could be anger at whoever marked me, frustration at my secrets, or his want despite it all. Probably all three.
His mouth tightens.
“Saint.” I catch his face between my palms. “Please. Just—don’t ask. Not now.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he leans down, pressing the softest kiss to my shoulder, right over the worst of the scarring. The tenderness of it makes my eyes burn.
“Okay,” he rasps. “Not tonight.”
His mouth continues its path, kissing along my collarbone and down to the edge of my bra. Each touch feels like a promise that my secrets can stay buried for now, and that he wants me anyway, damaged parts and all.
“But Wrenley?” He looks up at me, eyes clouded with possession. “One day you’re going to tell me who did this to you.”
It’s not a question. I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“Good.” He rises to kiss me again, fiercer this time. “Because right now, all I want is to make you forget everything but my name.”
My skin pebbles under his touch. When his thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin cotton, I arch into his hand with a gasp.
“Sensitive,” he notes, a wicked gleam appearing in his eyes. “I wonder where else...”
Saint lowers his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth, drawing the peak into wet heat through the fabric. The sensation shoots straight between my legs, and I whimper, clutching his shoulders.
“Saint, please?—”
He reaches behind me, unclasping my bra with practiced ease. When it falls away, he sits back on his heels, just looking.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
“I’m memorizing,” he corrects.
But then his mouth is on my breast again, hot and insistent, and thinking becomes impossible. His tongue circles my nipple while his fingers tease the other, and I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more friction.
“Too many clothes,” I rasp, reaching for his belt.
Saint captures my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. “Patience.”
“I’ve been patient for too long,” I protest.
His laugh is dark velvet against my skin. “Then you can be patient a little longer.”
With his free hand, he works open the button of my jeans, sliding the zipper down with agonizing slowness. My hips lift instinctively, seeking his touch.
“So eager,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth to my stomach. “I like that.”
He releases my wrists to tug my jeans down my legs, taking my underwear with them. And then I’m naked beneath him, exposed to his hungry gaze.