Chapter 6 Eric
H er mouth is sweet—like honey and roses—and the softness of her lips sends a shiver down my spine. The warmth of her body presses against me, igniting a fire I can’t extinguish. I’m lost in her, forgetting every reason why this kiss shouldn’t be happening. Her small frame fits perfectly in my arms, and my hand instinctively lowers to her ass, memorizing the shape of her curves. When she moans into my mouth, it’s game over. I kiss her like I’ve never kissed a woman in my life, devouring every breath, every sound, and every ounce of her.
Her front presses against my hardening cock, and I dig my fingers deeper into her ass, swallowing the little yelp that escapes her lips. The urge to lift her onto the kitchen counter pulses through me, but before I can act, Molly the cat leaps onto the windowsill with an indignant meow.
Emma jerks back, breaking the kiss, but we’re still clinging to each other, breathless and dazed. Her lips are swollen, and her eyes glaze over with something I shouldn’t name.
What the fuck did I just do?
I’m not supposed to feel this way about Emma. She’s off-limits, and a line I should never cross. But damn it, the taste of her makes me question everything.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back, though I don’t mean it. Not one bit.
“For what?” she asks, her voice soft, curious.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I just… Grandpa was watching.”
That’s a lie. Grandpa wasn’t watching. He’s probably too busy with his apple pie to care what’s happening in the kitchen, but I need an excuse. I need something to justify the mess I’ve just made.
She straightens her shirt, smoothing the fabric over her breasts. The movement draws my gaze, and fuck me, her nipples are hard, pushing against the fabric like an invitation I desperately want to accept.
“It’s what I’m here for,” she says, all too casually, then elbows me and nods toward the window. “See? The kiss worked. They’re toasting now. We should do that more often… You know, when they’re looking.”
Right. I’m pretending. For Grandpa. That’s all. But if we do that again, if I taste her like that again, there won’t be any pretending about it.
“Sounds like a plan,” I grumble, shifting uncomfortably as my cock throbs with frustration.
We return to the dishes in silence, but my mind isn’t on the pot I’m scrubbing. Instead, I’m thinking about Emma, about how her mouth felt against mine, and how perfectly she fit in my arms. I think about what I’d do if we weren’t in this kitchen with my family just outside.
And fuck me, it’s a problem. Because my cock is straining again.
Emma turns off the water, drying the last plate. I nudge her with my elbow, needing to shake off the tension. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She flicks a stray lock of hair from her face, leaving a smudge of bubbles on her cheek.
“I’m thinking I should spend more time with Grandpa,” she says. “How long until he signs the papers for the ranch? What’s the plan here?”
She frowns slightly, and something in my gut tightens. I don’t want her leaving too soon. Not that quick. Not at all.
“Grandpa will want us to announce the engagement this weekend at Harvest Fest,” I tell her, watching for her reaction.
Her nose wrinkles. “That will work.”
“That will work for what?” I ask.
“Well, I need to go back to my dad, and Eric, I have to be honest here. This ruse is exactly what I need.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, then bites her lip. “I’ve been going about my partnership the wrong way. I thought I had to prove myself over and over, but when I spoke to my father, he reminded me of something.”
She takes a deep breath. “There’s a relationship stipulation in the articles of incorporation.”
I blink. “Oh-kay?”
“Don’t you see? I don’t need to wait on my brothers' vote. Our engagement is all I need.”
I arch a brow. “Fake engagement.”
She waves a hand. “Point is, I only need proof that I’m in a serious relationship, send an application to corporate, and it’s an automatic acceptance for me.”
She lifts her hand into the stream of sunlight coming through the kitchen window, and the light bounces off my grandmother’s engagement ring, casting rainbow patterns across her fingers.
“You’ll sign an affidavit that we’re engaged. I’ll forward it to corporate tomorrow, get my partnership, you’ll make the announcement, and I’ll go back home to see my father before he…” She trails off, the light dimming in her eyes.
And that’s when it hits me—I don’t want her leaving.
But she should be with her father.
“So you’re using me to get a promotion?” I tease, pushing back the selfish part of me that wants her to stay longer.
She lifts onto her toes and presses a whisper of a kiss against my lips. “Tit-for-tat, cowboy. You secure the money you need from Grandpa Albert, and I get my partnership, bypassing my brothers.”
I nod slowly, watching her, knowing there’s more in her eyes than she’s letting on. I just need time to figure out what it is.
“Sounds like the perfect plan.”
I reach toward her cheek, wiping away the soap suds. Her breath catches, and for a split second, we’re caught in that moment again, the moment right before the kiss, before the world outside the kitchen disappeared.
Then, Molly the cat claws her way up my pant leg.
Stupid fucking cat.
Emma steps back while I lift Molly into my arms, unsure whether I want to strangle the little creature or thank her. I scratch under her chin. “What do you want, huh? Barn mice not enough for you?”
Emma’s watching me, something unreadable in her expression.
“You don’t like cats?” I ask.
“I love cats, but… it’s been hard since Bam Bam and Pebbles passed.”
I nod, remembering the Rottweilers she had as a kid. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The sound of a phone ringing cuts through the quiet.
“That’s my cell.”
She rushes to her briefcase in the foyer and picks up the phone on the fifth ring.
“Hey, Tristan. How’s Dad?”
I step outside, giving her privacy. In the backyard, I pluck warm grapes from the pergola, savoring the sweetness, but all I can think about is Emma. Emma with her sharp mind and smart mouth. Emma, whose lips taste like honey and roses. Emma, who’s about to turn my life upside down.
And worst of all?
I fucking want her to.
My mother smooths her hands over her apron, her expression calm, but I don’t miss the way she glances at my father before slicing into the apple pie again. A second helping. Maybe third. I’ve lost count. It’s easier to feed problems than to talk about them. And the biggest problem sitting at this table is me.
Rainy day, my ass. That rainy day has come and gone, and if I don’t get married within the next month, we’re going to lose the ranch. Not in some distant, theoretical future, but soon. As in, it-could-be-in-the-newspaper kind of soon.
“It’s good to save, Eric,” my mother says, sliding another plate in front of my father. “When the ranch is under your care, the money will come in handy.”
She brings me out of my head. Money would come in handy right now. I’m already behind on my last payment. The one that keeps Annabelle safe.
“Speaking of which,” I say, forcing my voice into a neutral tone. “Now that I’m engaged, are we going to talk about the ranch?”
Grandpa rubs his chin, considering me like I just asked for his life savings to start a cryptocurrency farm.
“How about tomorrow?” he says finally. “I’ll have the paperwork ready by then.”
I nod, relief unwinding the tension in my shoulders. “Sounds great.”
“Are you announcing your engagement at the festival?” he asks, just as casually as if he were talking about the weather.
I snort. “Grandpa, that’s an old tradition. I’m sure nobody cares about my engagement.”
He fixes me with a look that makes me shift in my seat like I’m a teenager again. “You’ll be taking over the largest ranch in the county. People care. The town cares. It’s part of the agreement and it’s tradition.”
I rub the back of my neck, recalling my grandmother’s advice about choosing my battles. I could fight this, but what’s the point? The festival’s in a few days, and at this point, I just need to keep Emma here long enough to make this believable.
“We’ll make the announcement this weekend,” I say.
Grandpa beams. “Good. It’ll give me time to get to know Emma.” He slaps his hand against the table, his enthusiasm bleeding into his tone. It’s probably the bourbon in his so-called healthy shake.
The back door creaks open, and I look up just as my bride-to-be steps outside.
“Did I hear my name?” Emma asks, immediately walking up to my side like she belongs there. She slides her hand around my waist, fingers resting lightly at my hip, and damn it, I don’t know if it’s for show or if it’s just instinct at this point.
“Grandpa’s keen on spending quality time with you,” I say, glancing down at her. She looks up at me at the exact same moment before turning toward Grandpa, her expression bright and eager.
“I can’t wait,” she says, pure sunshine and charm. “Eric mentioned you have old family photos you might like to share.”
Fuck. She’s good.
Grandpa practically bounces in his seat. “I have five full albums.”
I groan. “No way. The last thing I need is to scare my fiancée with embarrassing photographs.” I lift my hands in protest, but Emma quickly lowers them.
“Sorry, honey. But you got to see my old pictures, so I get to see yours,” she says sweetly.
The hell I did.
“Whatever makes you happy, darling,” I murmur, because really, what choice do I have? I slide my arm around her, pulling her in just a little closer. Just enough that I feel the rise of her chest as she inhales.
“We should get going,” I say. “I’d like to check on the animals and let Emma settle in.”
Emma hugs my parents and Grandpa Albert before we head inside to grab her suitcase. She takes her briefcase, and we make our way toward the back path leading to my house.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask, reaching for her hand again without thinking.
The second our fingers twine, she looks back over her shoulder. “Is Grandpa still watching?”
“No, but I thought we could practice,” I shrug.
“Is pretending to be my fiancée that hard?” she teases.
“No, but it’s definitely testing some boundaries.”
She smirks, like pushing my buttons is her new favorite game.
We hit the tall grass, the path narrowing, forcing her to slow down. Her heels sink into the dirt, and with a sigh, she stops to yank them off, leaving her barefoot.
“You’re going to walk like that?” I ask.
She wiggles her toes in the dirt. “I may need to trade in my Louboutins for some cowboy boots.”
I bite back a grin. “City slicker having trouble already?”
She steps forward, jabbing her finger into my chest. “Just you wait, cowboy. I’ll be riding circles around you in no time.”
Damn. She looks cute when she’s mad.
I shake my head. “I was just teasing, Ems. Your feet are the same size as Annabelle’s. You can borrow her runners.”
She pauses, tilting her head. “How do you know our feet are the same size?”
I smirk. “Because they’re so… perfect. Size six?”
Her eyes widen. “Yes, actually.”
Her voice softens, and I like the way it sounds when she’s caught off guard.
“Great! Annabelle leaves over clothes and shoes for when she visits.”
“You two are close?” She asks.
“In some way, yes. In other…” How do I explain that my sister is stuck in San Francisco, because I can’t get rid of that man? “In other way, I wish we were closer. She lives too far away when she should be here.”
We reach the top of the hill, and she stops in her tracks. The river stretches below us, winding through the valley like a silver ribbon, and beyond that, my house sits tucked into the landscape, waiting.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “Is that your house?”
Pride swells in my chest. “Built it with Derek.”
She starts walking again, quickening her pace. “You built it?”
“Fourteen months,” I say, keeping up with her. “Kept me busy after the army.”
“Incredible.” She shakes her head, looking around like she’s stepped into another world. “I forgot you were in the army with my brothers. What else are you hiding, cowboy?”
I laugh. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
As we approach the porch, she hesitates, taking in the sprawling flower beds. She kneels to touch one of the roses, inhaling deeply before looking up at me.
“These are beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Grandma Estonia planted them before she passed.”
She rises, brushing her fingers over the petals once more before stepping toward the door. She pushes it open, but I stop her with a hand at her wrist.
“One sec. Let’s do this right.”
She squeals as I scoop her into my arms, carrying her over the threshold. She presses against me, her body soft and warm, her thigh brushing against my zipper.
I set her down inside and she takes a slow turn, drinking it all in. The exposed beams, the fireplace, the scent of fresh-cut wood and home.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “I love it.”
I grin. “Welcome home, fiancée.”
Exposed wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, supporting my grandmother’s candle chandelier. A stone fireplace divides the family room from the dining area, giving the space that cozy, lived-in feel.
Emma steps around it, wandering into the kitchen like she’s casing the place. She stops in front of the oversized window, her eyes widening as she takes in the view.
“Jesus, this is beautiful. Not what I expected, cowboy.”
The balcony overlooking the river is definitely something special.
“What did you expect?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
She turns, a coy smile playing on her lips. “When I picture you, it’s always in a barn.”
What the hell does she mean by that? My zipper tightens at the possibilities.
“We can arrange that, Ems.” I wink, and her cheeks pinken as I nod toward the patio. “There’s a hot tub out back.”
She crosses the room to the window, peering outside. “Wow. A city luxury in the middle of nowhere?”
“Gift from Grandpa.”
She paces the room, running her fingers over the furniture, taking it all in.
“Incredible. I can’t believe the decor. There’s more to you than meets the eye, cowboy.”
I have my sister to thank for that.
“The feeling’s mutual, Ems.”
Country tones and rustic artifacts fill every nook, turning the house into the perfect retreat from the outside world. Fluffy blankets drape over the couches, pillows piled in the corner beneath an overstuffed bookshelf. A sheepskin rug sprawls in front of the fireplace like an open invitation. Annabelle shows up from San Francisco with a new accent piece every time she visits, like she’s trying to domesticate me through home decor. Not that I mind.
She points to the grandfather clock. “I love the antiques. It’s all so… warm. Very homey for a cowboy.”
“They’re from my grandparents and great-grandparents. There’s an ancient sewing machine upstairs if you wanna have a go at it.”
She laughs. “Please, I can barely cook.”
“Good thing I can. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
I gesture toward the stairs and follow as she starts up, but she pauses on the third step, turning so we’re suddenly face to face, close enough that her breath ghosts over my lips.
“You mean, I’m not sleeping in the same room as my fiancé?” Her voice drops to something that messes with my head. “What would Grandpa think of that?”
My mind betrays me, flashing an image of her tangled in my sheets, my palm print faint on her ass.
“I believe Grandpa would approve,” I say, voice rough. “He’s old-fashioned.”
She lifts a finger. “Grandpa’s more liberal than he lets on. And he won’t be fooled by a fake relationship. If you want this to work, he needs to think we’re in the same bed.”
And suddenly, I’m in a whole lot more trouble than I bargained for.
She’s not wrong. But if she climbs into my bed, I won’t be able to hold back. And I really, really don’t want to.
“Put your stuff in my room,” I tell her. “But you’re sleeping in the guest room. Feel free to use my shower—it’s more comfortable.”
“You mean, for more than one person?” Her eyes spark with something dangerous.
“Be careful what you wish for, darling.”
She grins. “I’ll change and meet you downstairs.”
“Sounds good.”
While she changes, I swap into a fresh shirt and worn jeans. By the time I toss my clothes into the laundry, she’s already at the door, looking way too damn good in tight jeans and a flannel. Her hair’s pulled back with one of Annabelle’s scrunchies, exposing the curve of her neck. I stare like a fucking letch.
She pauses. “Hold on. Let me grab my phone. Dad’s supposed to call when he wakes up.”
She disappears into the room and reemerges a moment later. “I’m gonna draft a quick letter to the board. I’ll need you to sign it.”
“Yeah, sure.” The words taste like regret. A fake engagement affidavit won’t stand if the board finds out.
I grab a sweatshirt, hand Emma Annabelle’s rubber boots, and slip a flashlight into my pocket before we head toward the stables. The sun sinks behind the trees, turning the sky into a swirl of pink and gold.
Emma takes a deep breath, stretching her arms like she’s trying to soak it all in. “God, I feel like I’ve been breathing fumes my entire life.”
“You live in New York. That’s not an exaggeration.”
We take the ten-minute walk to the barn as dusk settles in, the fading light casting long shadows across the fields. The barn door groans when I push it open, revealing rows of stalls bathed in twilight’s golden glow. The scent of hay and leather fills the air, mingling with the soft nickers of the horses.
Emma locks onto the third stall and makes a beeline for it.
“Oh my goodness, girl. You’ve grown so much.”
Emma reaches out, fingers grazing Shadow’s muzzle.
“You remember me, don’t you, girl?” she murmurs.
Shadow’s ears flick forward, her posture shifting as she leans into Emma’s touch. I watch, unable to look away. There’s something raw and unguarded about her in this moment—something as natural as the open fields stretching beyond the barn. Shadow, usually skittish, lowers her head, inviting more. Within seconds, Emma’s palms are cradling the mare’s face, her touch gentle, reverent.
I’ve seen this horse throw men twice Emma’s size. Hell, she nearly took my shoulder out once. But right now? She’s melting under Emma like they share some unspoken secret.
Something tightens in my chest—something foreign and unsettling. She’s not just Julian and Tristan’s little sister anymore. She’s becoming something more. Something dangerous.
Something I don’t want to let go of.
“She’s never let a stranger near her,” I say, half expecting Shadow to snap out of whatever spell Emma has her under.
Emma turns, eyes twinkling. “Obviously, we’re not strangers, are we, girl?”
She strokes Shadow’s cheek again, breathing in the moment before reluctantly pulling away. “I can’t wait to ride you again.”
“That’s not happening,” I tell her flatly.
She scoffs. “She won’t throw me.”
“She threw me. She threw Blake. Derek ended up in a cast. And my father barely walked away the last time we tried to breed her.”
Emma just smiles, scratching behind Shadow’s ears like she has the inside scoop on some divine equine mystery. “She’s just waiting for the right stallion. Totally understandable.”
I blink. Hard.
The hell am I supposed to do with that?
Emma lets go of the horse, strolling deeper into the barn like she owns the place. I shake my head and follow.
“This place has changed since I was here last.”
She’s not wrong. The barn’s a different beast now—six new stalls at the far end, the once-cluttered back area cleaned and reorganized. No more chaos. Just efficiency.
“That was eight or nine years ago.”
“Ten,” she corrects.
I do the math. She’s right. We expanded the barn the summer Caroline was in town. The same summer I made a colossal mistake, showed her a new horse and ended up between her legs.
“That’s the year you beat Wyoming Jack’s record on the mechanical bull, right?” I ask.
It must have been the year Caroline tangled me into trekking through the woods, and then we ended up in the barn.
“That’s the one. I remember because I cried all night, afraid I lost my virginity to a mechanical bull,” she admits, her voice teasing, but there’s something vulnerable in the way she says it.
I laugh, shaking my head as I heft another square of alfalfa and stack it inside the feeding grate. “That’s a hell of a way to go.”
She chuckles, but then a shiver runs through her, and she rubs her hands along her arms. Without thinking, I strip off my sweatshirt and drape it over her shoulders, my hands lingering on the collar. I pull her in, just a little, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body.
“Evenings get cool this time of year,” I murmur.
She tilts her chin up, eyes meeting mine in the dim barn light. “Thank you.”
I draw my thumb along her lower lip, slow and deliberate, committing the softness to memory. “You’re a firecracker, Emma Silver.”
Her breath hitches. “Firecrackers explode when they’re teased.”
“I’m not teasing,” I say, my voice a low rumble. “Just...”
I trail off. What the hell am I doing, exactly?
We stand there, tension crackling between us like a live wire. Neither of us moves, like we’re caught in the moment, suspended in something neither of us fully understands. Then, Molly the cat brushes against my leg, breaking the spell.
I exhale, letting my sweatshirt fall from my grip. Thank God for cats.
I grab a bale of hay and toss it into the feeding grate. Emma jumps in like she’s done this a thousand times, stacking bales with a practiced ease that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.
Damn her.
Damn me.
Emma leans against the wooden beam, breathless, strands of hair sticking to her flushed face as she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.
“We should head back.” I tell her.
She nods, and I take her hand, leading her home with the beam of my flashlight cutting through the dark.
Back at home, I light the fireplace and set the kettle on while Emma disappears upstairs to change.
I’m stirring a spoon through a mug of tea when I hear her voice float down from the second floor.
“Seriously, Grace?”
I glance up at the baluster. “Everything okay?”
Emma stomps into the hall, wild-haired and fire-eyed, waving something lacey in the air.
“Do you have a pajama top I can borrow?” she demands. “Because Grace seems to think this is appropriate.” She shakes the negligee like it personally offended her. “And all the other tops are either embroidered or barely wearable.”
I bite back a smirk. The idea of her in lace—Jesus.
“Honestly, Ems, I don’t own a single pair of pajamas.”
Her hands land on the railing, her exasperation dripping down from the second floor. “Oh, please. What do you sleep in?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Her lips part slightly. The air shifts.
I clear my throat. “But I’m sure I can find a T-shirt for you to wear. Give me a sec.”
I head to my room, rifling through my drawers, but can’t find anything suitable. I fling open my suitcase until my fingers brush over soft fabric. I pull out the ridiculous pink unicorn and rainbow T-shirt I bought in New York.
Perfect.
It smells like me. And the idea of her wrapped up in my scent all night—fuck.
When I turn around, she’s standing in the doorway, half-dressed in a tank top and shorts. The room tilts.
The dim light highlights her toned thighs and the curves of her body. The thin fabric of her top clings to her breasts, teasing, and daring. She’s utterly out of place in this house, and yet she fits here better than she ever did in her New York suits.
My best friend’s little sister.
The words repeat in my head, over and over, like a warning siren. But instead of cooling the fire in my veins, it only fans the flames.
Emma lifts the T-shirt to her nose and inhales.
Fuck me.
“Thank you,” she says softly, fingers smoothing over the fabric. “I should start a collection.”
I need to get out of here.
“I put tea on, but I forgot to turn off the barn lights.” The words tumble out, fast and desperate. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t wait for a response. I take the stairs two at a time, push out the front door, and step into the cool night air with a semi-hard dick and way too many thoughts of Emma in that damn tank top.
Think of something else.
Pigs. Horses. Kittens. Tractors. Hay?—
Damn it. Now she’s on the hay, looking up at me with those blue eyes, mouth parted, and waiting.
By the time I reach the barn, I’m hard as a damn rock.
I ignore the horses and sink onto a hay bale, leaning back, letting out a slow, measured breath.
The wind howls through the gaps in the barn walls, rattling the doors. The horses stir, their soft huffs filling the silence. I rub over my jeans, trying to will away the ache, but all I can think about is her.
Emma.
Emma, with her lips parted in a breathless moan. Emma, with her hands on me, her fingers wrapping around my cock, her mouth warm and soft, taking me in.
Jesus.
I shift, unbuttoning my jeans, letting the zipper slide down as I free myself. My hand wraps around my length, slow at first, teasing, imagining the heat of her mouth replacing my palm.
She’d be a good girl for me.
I stroke once, then twice, my grip tightening. I imagine her lips stretched around me, her tongue swirling, my fingers tangled in her hair as I guide her movements, controlling the rhythm.
Pleasure coils deep in my spine, the pressure building, and tightening in my balls.
A groan slips past my lips, my body thrumming with need, the fantasy tipping over into something I can’t contain. I’m so close, heat surging through me, every muscle taut?—
Then a phone rings.
And it’s not mine.