Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The figure filling the space in front of me is large enough to eclipse the sun.
As my eyes slowly ascend, I find myself confronted by a whole expanse of man.
A pair of burly thighs, clad in wranglers, the kind that show off impressive outlines of all sorts of leg muscles.
With a gulp, my attention hurries past the point where a belt buckle invites me to linger.
No way should I outright stare at whatever secrets might be concealed behind that glint of metal.
This is one massive cowboy, solid as a tree trunk, with sturdy, broad shoulders—the kind that seem to barely fit between the shelves. Are those biceps of his larger than my head?
I hastily wet my lips, lifting my gaze further, only to find myself staring into warm amber eyes.
This man might appear to be eight feet tall and five hundred pounds from my spot on the floor, yet there’s also something at odds with that imposing stature concealed in his expression.
As if he’s overly conscious of his size and build, as if he’s possibly spent years practicing how to make himself smaller.
He seems to hover, as if trying really hard not to break anything simply by breathing.
I haven’t dared peek in the direction of his hands, but I already know that in proportion to the rest of him, I’ll likely be struggling not to make some sort of ungodly noise when I take in their… size.
Cowboy here looks like he’s trying not to go full-on bull in a china shop. There’s an energy rolling off him that feels comforting that I can’t put my finger on, like he’s truly concerned at the sight of me sitting slumped on the floor.
Although that’s nuts.
Why would he care in the slightest? He’s a complete stranger, after all. Surely he doesn’t give a shit. I’m probably in the way of a shelf he wants to get to.
Cradled in—or should I say dwarfed by—the crook of his arm is a stack of hardcover oversized coffee table books. However, in his hold, they look flimsy and petite. His huge biceps look ready to split the seam on his jacket without warning.
Why does that make my stomach do a big ol’ swoop?
Swapping his toffee color cowboy hat into the other hand, he rubs over the back of his neck.
Still studying me with a little crease between his brows, he crouches down, bringing us close to eye level with one another.
Sweet Jesus, that only makes the whole thigh-jeans-don’t-stare-at-his-groin situation even more impossible to navigate.
“Is everything okay, ma’am? Are you feeling alright?”
Oh. Yeah. The whole I’m on the floor situation. Meanwhile, I’m staring at him with my mouth hanging open and probably have a puddle of drool collecting in my lap.
“I just… I just needed a minute,” I croak. “The floor seemed like as good a place as any to get my bearings.”
Creases deepen around the corner of his eyes.
Lines that speak a little to his age, the kind of distinguished tells, that pair oh so very nicely with the silver lining his temples.
Those hints of gray are incredibly sexy among strands of dirty blond.
His hair is cropped short on the sides with the length left a little longer on the top, enough slight tousle to it that it would be easy to sift your fingers absently through those strands.
All that heady masculine energy rolling off him catches me in a trance, so much so that I’m outright staring, not just at his head of hair, but the stubble lining his strong jaw, too.
One that hasn’t seen a razor for a few days.
The longer I look, the more I notice there’s also salt-and-pepper gray there.
God, he’s something straight off the silver screen, quite literally.
Older and most certainly wiser from the looks of him.
“Here for the holidays?” His voice is rich and deep, a gentleness in his question that somehow makes it seem completely normal to find ourselves both on the floor in a quaint bookstore, surrounded by book covers featuring half-naked man chests.
I hastily swallow and drag my eyes up to meet his. Now would be an excellent time to stop imagining how good his stubble would feel dragging over my skin. “Uhh… staying here for a couple of days?”
“You’re not sure?” He shifts his immense bulk, still crouched down on his haunches, and starts to pick up the dropped books scattered beside my hip. Heat surges up my cheeks when I realize he’s probably had a front row seat to a view of my stockings and right up my skirt.
Quickly tucking the plaid fabric down, I let out an awkward laugh. “No… I am staying… I’m just not sure I want to, if that makes sense—”
Oh god. I damn near swallow my tongue.
As I’ve been stammering, this dreamboat cowboy has started looking at the covers of each of my books.
One by one, he picks them up in his—yep, checks notes, confirmed to be enormous—hands and then graces me with an arched eyebrow.
“Milking the two Minotaurs.”
Hit me with a shovel.
“Entangled with the tentacle Kings.”
Hand me the arsenic.
And as he glances over the third book, the corner of his stubble-coated mouth twitches. “Double Pucking in her Penalty Box.”
Let me wither and die.
His big paw reaches out, carefully sliding the books back into my hands.
“I’m sensing a theme here.” Cowboy doesn’t give me much to go on in his voice, but I’m also too busy hyperventilating to properly take notice of his reaction to my selection of titles.
My cheeks feel hot enough to roast marshmallows over. “Maybe.” I squeak. The theme being I’m a slut for a filthy gang-bang.
“Monsters?” He taps the top one prominently featuring a half-naked woman being ravished by two obscenely muscular gargoyles wearing ice skates and hockey uniforms.
“Umm. Yeah. Monsters.” Glad we’re going to awkwardly skip over the part about the fact that my entire stack is about double penetration.
Braving a glance up, I peer at his books. Oh, god. They’re artsy and awfully serious. The top one has an incredible full color rendition, complete with foiling, of Woman in Gold.
“So was it the monsters who left you searching for the floor, or something else?” His question is soft-edged.
There’s a sweetness there I certainly wouldn’t have expected from someone who looks like he could toss a calf over one shoulder, while carrying a hay bale in the other with ease.
Or… you know… doing something of that nature with a woman.
Not that I’m letting my mind go straight to the gutter. It’s not as if I took one look and instantly imagined this giant man tossing me around.
“Something else.” For some reason, the words come out all breathy.
His tongue slowly drags along his bottom lip as he quietly looks me over, and I quite possibly let out a whimper.
Evidently, I live in the gutter now. Call me gutter rat.
“Does something else have anything to do with what’s on your phone there, sugar?” His immaculate jaw tilts, nodding in the direction of the screen—it remains lit up, showing off my ex and his brand-new fiancée. You couldn’t miss the size of that sparkler from space.
“On a scale of pathetic to run away as fast as you can, how embarrassing would it be to admit to that?”
Those perfect lips of his curve into a smile. Not pitying, not judging me, no. Something in this man’s energy and his willingness to stay here on the floor, simply talking, is so unbelievably sweet and tender. I really can’t let myself go reading into it.
The way he rubs his hand over the back of his neck again is a little bashful, a whole lot of endearing, and I mentally scold myself to stop straight up ogling him as if I’ve never seen a cowboy before.
Even though I’m fairly sure I’ve never seen anyone quite like him before.
“Nothing to be feeling any sort of way about from how I see it.” He rumbles the words, and a flurry of goosebumps runs down my arms in response.
“My opinion might not mean anything, but I think you’re better off with someone who would rather be in a bookstore with you than feel like they need to flash a tacky ring for the world to see. ”
I can’t help but let out a laugh. “It really is tacky, isn’t it?
” Glancing down at my phone, I make a face.
“Well, how’s this for a fun holiday development.
In breaking news: He’s my ex. We broke up barely three months ago.
And here’s the real kicker… I just found out via the wonders of social media that he’s already moved on fast enough to propose to someone five minutes ago.
” I shrug and peer back up at his lovely, kind amber eyes.
“… Aaaannnd we’re all staying at the same place on Mistwood Ranch. Guess that’s my rotten Christmas luck.”
Maybe this is my punishment. Perhaps it’s all I deserve, the nagging, intrusive thoughts at the back of my mind pipe up.
“Sugar, it sounds like you dodged a bullet.” He clicks his tongue and gives a small shake of his head. “A man like that, who can’t appreciate what he’s got, isn’t worth your time, or attention.”
Why does one little word have so much power over my body?
Sugar. Just hearing the tiniest term of endearment from a stranger feels like being wrapped in a warm embrace.
The kind I’d really like to experience from someone like him.
Having arms like that wrapped around me, swallowing me up, and making me feel safe?
Sigh. This man is going to unknowingly feature as the headline act in my private fantasies for a long, long time.
“He always did love to flash the cash, if you know what I mean. One of those guys who thought money was the be-all and end-all. Used to think it would impress me, but it didn’t—it doesn’t.
After a while, I guess he realized I wasn’t prepared to be purchased, so he obviously moved on. And rapidly too, so it turns out.”
Cowboy’s brows pull together, a strange sort of expression flickering behind his eyes. He looks all set to say something, then appears to change his mind.