CHAPTER THREE
Riley
By day five, I was starting to get the hang of ranch cooking.
I could crack eggs without getting shells everywhere. The biscuits were edible more often than not. I’d only set off the smoke detector twice this week.
Progress.
But the real problem wasn’t the cooking.
The real problem was Dalton.
More specifically, the way Dalton kept finding excuses to touch me.
A hand on my waist as he reached past me for a pan. His body pressing against my back while he corrected my technique. His fingers brushing mine as he handed me ingredients.
Every touch sent heat racing through me. Every look made my stomach flip. Every low word in that rough voice made me want things I absolutely should not want from my temporary boss.
“You’re overthinking it again,” Dalton said, coming up behind me as I attempted eggs yet again. This time, over easy, not the scrambled mess I’d been serving. It was strange, but the disappointment I saw in the men’s faces every time they sat down for a meal made me want to learn to cook for real.
That, and the fact they kept asking when Mae was coming back.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” He turned me to face the stove, his body bracketing mine. “Let the eggs do the work.”
“The eggs aren’t doing anything except sitting there mocking me.”
His laugh filled the kitchen. It was another thing I was getting used to. Probably too used to. “Mocking eggs. That’s a new one.”
I was aware of every point where our bodies touched. His chest against my back. His thighs brushing mine. The heat of him seeping through my clothes and making me want to lean in and—
“You need to turn it over now,” he reminded me gently.
Right. Eggs. Cooking. Not thinking about what it would feel like to have his hands on me without the excuse of cooking lessons.
“Right.” My hand trembled as I slid the spatula under the egg. I sighed as the yolk broke when it landed back in the pan.
“That’s okay. The boys will eat it.”
“I know they will. They are the best bunch ever. But I really wanted to make them like they wanted.” I put the egg onto the plate with my other failed attempts. I realized Christmas miracles were not for learning how to cook properly.
“Hey,” he murmured, turning me around to face him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Of course, I couldn’t tell him what had broken my concentration. Which was the image of him. Naked. Preferably on top of me in his big king-sized bed upstairs.
“I’m not getting the hang of it fast enough. All of you are going to be skin and bones by the time Mae can come back.”
He lifted my chin with a finger. “You’ll get the hang of it, Riley. I’ve got faith in you.”
I looked up at him and his expression only made me want to cry more. His eyes were dark with sincerity and concern. Again, the way he looked at me was completely new to me. I usually flew under the radar with men. I was either too loud in some instances, and always too curvy.
“Well, that makes one of us.” I tried to smile, I really did.
“Fuck, Riley.”
“What? What did I do?”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. I studied the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. When had a man’s neck looked so sexy? But then, as I’d already determined, Dalton was sex on a stick.
“Riley,” he said, and his voice had the same raw, deep note. As if he were hurting.
“What’s wrong?”
He was looking at me now, his eyes half-lidded. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something we probably shouldn’t do in the kitchen with the door unlocked.”
Heat flooded through me. “Like what?”
I knew what I’d like to do with him.
“Kiss you. Find out if you taste as good as you smell. “Bend you over this counter and make you come on my tongue. Find out what sounds you make when I’m buried deep inside you. Fuck you against every surface in this kitchen until you can’t walk straight.
Make you ride my face.” He stopped, jaw tightening.
“Like a lot of things that aren’t appropriate for someone who works for me.
“I don’t really work for you. I’m filling in for my aunt.” I don’t know where those bold words came from, but I was glad that side of me had finally woken up.
That made him smile just a little. “Semantics.”
“Important semantics. What if I want you to do those inappropriate things?”
His eyes darkened. “Riley—”
“I’m not imagining this, right? This thing between us. It’s not just me?”
“Fuck no, it’s not just you.” His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheek. “I’ve been trying to keep my hands to myself for five days and maintain some semblance of professionalism. But you make it damn near impossible.”
“Then stop trying.”
The words hung in the air between us.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I saw the exact moment he decided to hell with being professional.
He kissed me.
And oh, my freaking life. My toes curled in my sneakers and all that dormant need inside me woke up like a bear coming out of hibernation. Suddenly, my body was filled with hormones I had absolutely no idea how to handle.
I wanted this man like crazy.
His mouth was firm and demanding, taking control like he did with everything else. No tentative first-kiss awkwardness. Just heat and want and his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak.
I grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer, and he made a low sound of approval.
His hands went to my waist, lifting me onto the counter like I weighed nothing, and then he was between my thighs, and we were perfectly aligned.
I could feel his hard cock pressing right where I needed it, separated only by too many layers of fabric.
I rocked against him instinctively, and he growled into my mouth, his hips grinding forward.
One hand slid up my side to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple through my shirt and bra, and I moaned into the kiss.
He did it again, harder this time, pinching lightly, and electricity shot straight between my legs.
“Fuck, Riley,” he groaned against my lips. “You feel so good. Want you so fucking bad.” His other hand gripped my ass, pulling me tighter against him, and I could feel how thick he was, could feel him throbbing against my core as we ground together fully clothed and—
The kitchen door banged open.
Tyler, the youngest of the ranch hands, stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. Me on the counter, Dalton standing between my legs, his body pressed close. There was no misunderstanding what we’d been doing. I buried my head in Dalton’s shoulder, my hands still clutching his shirt.
“I’ll just tell the boys breakfast will be a little late.” I didn’t see him leave, but I heard the back door slam and voices from the others. Then quiet.
“So,” I said, lifting my face from his shoulder, “that happened.”
“Yeah, it did.” He cupped my jaw. “We’ve probably got ten minutes before they send him in again.”
I sighed. “Then I guess I better—”
He cut me off with another kiss. This time it was slow, but no less demanding. His tongue thrust into my mouth, learning the taste of me. He pulled me toward the edge of the counter, letting me feel the effect I was having on him.
“You feel that, Riley?” he asked, grinding into me. I gave a whimper and wrapped one leg around his waist. “That’s what you do to me. That’s how I’ve been for the last fucking five days.”
I searched his face, not knowing how to answer that, or even if I should.
He finally drew back. “We need to talk about this,” he said.
I nodded, unable to speak.
Another quick kiss and he was lifting me off the counter. “Grab the biscuits and I’ll do the eggs.”