Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Prescott
I pull up to Haven’s barn and park. Why did I volunteer to go fishing again? We didn’t set a date, but he mentioned having Friday off. That’s perfect. I specifically told Papa that I’d work Friday night. I might’ve done it after we made plans to fish again, but Haven doesn’t need to know that.
Nor does he need to know I’m wearing a pale-blue pair of panties that’s a lacy match to the red ones he took.
Will I get those back? Do I want to? Every time I put them on, I’m going to feel his fingers thrusting inside me.
I get out and look around. He’s usually at the distillery at this time of day, and I passed a tractor sitting empty in a ditch. Haying.
I gambled that he’s busy with either one. I also purposely came out to play with the kittens less than two hours before I’m supposed to meet Clem and talk about the project she wants to hire me for .
Armed with the treats I bought before I left town, I call for the kittens. They’re friendly, but they’re getting older and are exploring farther. I still need to call the rescue again and see if they have any leads on homes.
How long have I put that off?
Thinking back, I grimace. Way to go, Prescott. Taking advantage of a hot distilling rancher and his soft spot for cute animals. And a really hard spot for a lost woman living with her papa.
If the rescue asks for photos, I have the ones I took when we first found them, but they’ve changed so much. Round little bellies stretched out with their bodies, they don’t look like fuzzy tumbleweeds ready to blow away anymore.
Thistle runs from the back of the barn once I call him. I shake a treat out of the bag to the ground, but the other two don’t show yet.
Digging my camera out, I squat. “Smile and say dead mouse.” I take a picture of Thistle curled over his fish goodie. Once he eats, he darts off, and I get a video of it. I’ll have to tell the rescue that they’re better as barn cats. They like their freedom and all the hunting they’re doing.
Well. I might as well leave the treats here. I duck into the tack room and stick the bag on a shelf next to the cans that Haven has stockpiled.
I should message the rescue while I’m here. I should do something. Digging out my phone, I stare at my lock screen. Buford’s soulful eyes stare back at me.
Boots crunch on the ground behind me. I spin around.
Haven’s in the doorway. His shirt is stretched obscenely over his shoulders and plastered to his chest just like I want to be. “Did you find them all?”
“Just Thistle. ”
He takes his cowboy hat off and pushes a hand through his hair and then sets the hat back on his head. “They’re around somewhere. Nice little hunters, especially Tan.”
“I was going to ask the rescue for an update and send them some images.” I lift my phone like I need to show him proof. “I can tell them that they’re good barn cats.”
He runs his gaze lazily down my body. My nipples stiffen, at attention, and the slight rasp of the bra that matches my underwear is acute.
His gaze continues down the jean shorts I almost didn’t wear because they are short , but it’s hot today, and I had the good sense not to wear another dress or skirt around him.
I regret that at the moment.
He drags his heated gaze back up, and it’s like each article of clothing flies off me, leaving me bare.
Can he tell how much I want him? Is my shirt hiding the peaks my bra can barely contain?
If he thought I was wet Saturday, it’s nothing like I am after seeing that hot look of his in broad daylight.
“How upset would you be,” he drawls, “if I told you that the only reason I haven’t admitted I’m keeping all the kittens is because there’d be no reason for you to keep dropping by?”
I should be irritated. Furious. Scandalized. And I should storm away from the barn and him, and never look back. But I remain rooted to my spot. “I’d be relieved our little wildflowers have a good home.”
He drifts closer, the heels of his boots scraping on the barn floor. “You wouldn’t be mad?”
“The rescue would be happy.” I would be disappointed to have no excuse to return. Perhaps that’s too light a description. Devastated. Yeah. That fits better.
He’s standing in front of me now, so close the brim of his hat shades my face. “How do I solve the problem of getting you back out here?”
“There’s the fishing.” I lick my suddenly parched lips, and his gaze snags on the tip of my tongue. “And your birthday is coming up soon.”
“It’s still two weeks away.” He rests his hands on my hips.
I brush my fingers over the warm fabric of his shirt and trace his shoulders down to his hard biceps. “I have no business being at your place.”
“Because you don’t want to waste your time on a guy like me.”
But I do almost escapes me. My sense of self-preservation might be fragile, but it remains intact. “You don’t want a relationship.”
“Yet I sure liked hearing you moan my name.” His grip on me tightens. If he yanks me to him, I’ll be pressed against the big ridge behind the fly of his jeans.
I also liked moaning his name. He blocked me from view and then dominated my senses. He turned me inside out and only took my underwear off. I dreamed about the way he slipped them off and told me exactly what he had planned for them.
The pair I’m wearing today is just for him.
The truth is, I wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for the cats, and I dreaded that the rescue would find homes for them.
I don’t need to talk to a professional to figure out why I haven’t called.
I’d have to ask them what it means that Haven hasn’t kept me on task. He likes the kittens. Does he like me?
So do I wait to go fishing to see him again? Anticipate his birthday dinner? Do I keep my fingers crossed and make my own wish when he blows out his candles ?
It’s Tuesday. If we fish on Friday, that’s days away. Need is pounding through me now. I’m approaching desperation, and I don’t make good decisions in that mental place. It’s how I ended up here, not that I’m in a place to complain.
How much sooner can I see him? “What if I came back to get my underwear?”
“I only have one pair.” His voice is gruff, and his pupils are wide.
How about now? How about he takes my panties off again? No, dammit. “I need the pair I’m wearing for my meeting later.”
“You sure about that?” He crowds closer, and his sandalwood scent wraps around me.
Small, blistering tendrils curl through my bloodstream. A persistent throb grows between my thighs. I’ve been half aroused since he saw me into the house like a gentleman after being filthy just seconds before.
“I’m sure,” I breathe. “But you can find out the color.” Did I seriously just offer that? “If you want.”
His nostrils flare. “Fuck yes.”
Desire cascades through me from head to toe. “I have a meeting in an hour.”
A sexy smile curves his lips. “Well then. I’ll make sure I’m quick.”
His grip eases on my waist only so he can tunnel his fingers between my skin and my waistband. Carefully, he eases the material over my hips. Stopping there, he straightens.
“Are you sure about this?” he murmurs, his lips inches away from mine.
I’m not sure about anything. I haven’t been for a long time. The one thing I know for certain is that the sensations he can give me are unrivaled. Maybe that’s what I’m clinging to. No surprises. Just pleasure. “I’m sure that you can’t guess what color I’m wearing.”
Does my sassy tone cover my insecurity?
Can I do this? Can I keep my heart out of whatever it is we’re going to do? Playing it safe has only left me alone and heartbroken. So, yes. I’m going to take what I can get. I’m not everything a guy would want, but I’m gambling that I’ll be out of town before Haven finds his next fling.
The thought dulls the edge of my raging hormones.
“Blue,” he says roughly. “Light and crisp, just like the color of your eyes.”
I blink at him. He’s standing. How did he guess correctly? “How in the world did you know that?”
Mischief enters his smile. “I peeked when I was pulling down your shorts.”
Laughter erupts from me, and I lightly swat at his shoulders. “You had me thinking your sweet words were real.”
His expression sobers. “They are one hundred percent real. I just didn’t have to guess.”
Instead of responding, I slip my hand behind his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He’s right. He’s been truthful with me so far, yet I expect him to lie like the rest. He’s a man of his word, and I need to quit lumping him in with everyone else. He’s…special.
He smashes his mouth against mine and sweeps his tongue inside. He tastes like toothpaste and sunshine. I wrap both my arms around him and meet his tongue stroke for stroke.
When he breaks away, his breathing is raspy. “I don’t have much time, and I wanna make this good for you.”
“I’m wearing a matching bra too. ”
A ragged groan leaves him. He lifts my shirt over my head and takes in the sight. My nipples tighten to the point of pain, and my breathing becomes shallow.
“Fuck me,” he whispers and tosses my shirt onto the closest shelf. “You’re the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not gonna be able to use that saddle you’re leaning on without thinking about your creamy tits under that blue lace.”
His words wiggle their way inside my chest and warm me from the inside out as if I’m not already sweltering for him.
I pat the saddle behind me. “Is this yours?” I know it is thanks to the trail ride he took me on weeks ago.
He nudges me backward, and my ass hits leather. “Hang on, Red. I’m going to give you a little ride.”
I grip the edges of the saddle, and instead of getting closer, he steps back.
Appreciation and desire darken his eyes.
The raw need scribbled across his face burrows inside me.
Light streams through the window of the tack room.
There’s nowhere for me to hide, but I can’t be self-conscious when he’s looking at me like that.