14. Distracted
FOURTEEN
Distracted
CARTER
Latin. Lavandula vera. True lavender.
I sometimes dreamed in Latin in my sleep, a bad habit from college.
I reached for Sage across the mattress and came up empty.
The clock on the nightstand and the darkness at the window told me it was still night.
She must have folded my jeans—they were waiting for me on the pillow like a quiet invitation to leave.
Was she in a hurry to kick me out? The thought twisted in my chest. I pulled them on, leaving the fly unbuttoned, and slipped out to find her.
She was curled on the couch under a fuzzy blanket, the soft glow of the TV lighting her face. The pizza box lay open beside her, and two glasses of wine plus water bottles waited on the coffee table.
She had my Henley on. A sign that I wasn’t getting kicked out anytime soon. Good. Because I didn’t want to sleep in the bunkhouse if I didn’t have to. Not when I could have her warm and soft against me.
“Hey. I wondered where you were.” I took the bottle of water and guzzled it.
“You seemed like you could use a nap. You definitely earned it. And I was hungry,” she grinned and tossed back the blanket, patting the cushion next to her. I slipped in, stretching an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled close while an old movie played on low.
Talk and laughter came easily between bites and sips. I learned about her family orchard and the meticulous notes her father left in some journals about how to care for it, that her sister Daisy attempted to follow to the letter.
“I’d love to read those.” That was the truth.
How badly I wanted to tell her about a family friend and his orchard over in Italy.
I’d spent a harvest season there during college, and could imagine taking her there someday to pick apples together, her hand beside mine.
But I couldn’t say any of that without blowing my entire cover.
“If you stay… you could read them.” Her eyes met mine, hopeful and unguarded.
I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger. “If only things were different.” The words tasted like ash. I wanted them to be true so badly that it hurt.
I shifted in my seat, scratching my beard.
“What things?” She pursued this line of thought. I couldn’t blame her, my smart girl. She probably could see right through me more than she wanted to admit.
I itched the beard again, thinking how to answer. Tonight, these whiskers drove me nuts.
“I’ve wandered this world a bit aimlessly, I guess. Never really settling down. Always searching for something, but I don’t know what. Maybe I’ll know it when I find it.” It was the best answer I could give, one straddling the truth.
“Maybe it’s not a what. But who you’re searching for.” She sipped her wine and had no idea how much her observation affected me.
She noticed me pulling my fingers through my beard again.
“Stop that.” She chuckled and set her glass down. “You either need a good beard moisturizer, or just shave it off if it bothers you that much.”
I mumbled about razors not being at the top of my list, having to prioritize my budget—another humiliating truth in this stripped-down, messy life. Earlier I might have purchased a cheap plastic one at the grocery store if not for running into Red Amos.
Before I could elaborate, she disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a razor and a can of baby powder shaving cream, setting them in my lap. The handle of the razor was ivory and brass, and probably an antique, but it was clean and the blade looked fresh.
“It was my father’s. Another thing of his I kept. You can use it if you really want to shave it off. But I hope you don’t mind if I cry while you do it,” she explained.
“Cry?”
She bit her lower lip, gazing at me with half-lidded eyes. “Because I haven’t had the pleasure of your whiskers between my thighs yet.”
I went still for exactly one second. Then tossed them onto the couch behind me.
“Easily rectified.” Hauling her over my shoulder, I carried her back to the bedroom, her giggles the sweetest sound I’d heard in a long time. God, this woman was going to ruin me if I let her.
Laying her out on the bed was like unwrapping the best gift I’d never deserved. Before, we were hurried; now I took my time. I peeled my shirt off her, drinking in every inch of bare skin—soft curves, the flush still lingering from earlier, the way her nipples pebbled under my gaze.
“You’re stunning, Sage, but you probably know that,” I spoke against her skin, voice thick, kissing up her body. “How’d I get this lucky to be with you tonight?”
“Because I let you in. I knew I would the moment I met you,” she whispered.
That fact alone should have stopped my progress, but I kept on, ignoring the inevitability of things coming our way.
I savored the little shivers and sighs she gave me. When I reached the inside of her thighs, I rubbed my bearded jaw against her skin, teasing there. She gasped, fingers threading into my hair.
“Mm. Carter… need more.”
With her legs over my shoulders, I dipped my head in and tasted her sweetness—slow licks over her clit, sucking gently, then firmer, sliding my tongue in and out of her.
The flavor of her addictive, I gripped her thighs, holding her open as I devoured her, beard rasping against her until she was absolutely writhing.
Only when I had her dripping and desperate did I roll onto my back. “Come here and ride my face to finish.”
“Ooh, yes. But wait here.”
“Huh?” I lifted my head, watching her beautiful ass run out. She came back in a minute with my hat on her head. “What’s this?”
“You know.”
“Know what?”
“The saying. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” She giggled and climbed up my body, lowering herself over my mouth with a broken moan. I caught on fast that this was something most Montana men should know.
“That’s right. Then ride me, cowgirl. Let’s see how long you last.” I gripped her ass, guiding her as she rocked against my tongue, chasing her pleasure.
“Oh! Fucking yee-haw,” she cried. Her body arched, pressing into my face, and never had I ever had a better view of a woman than this.
The sounds she made, the pleas for more, even my name shouted like a curse, all pushed me further to please.
I exhausted my tongue bringing her to climax, nearly suffocating myself when she erupted, thighs tightening like a vice around my head.
But I refused to stop until she was boneless.
Gasping, she landed on the bed next to me.
“Hope you don’t think we’re done?” I grabbed another condom out and quickly sheathed myself, harder than fuck. “Shower with me. Now.”
I pulled her up into my arms and carried her, but halfway there the raw and feral need overtook me. Her back landed against the door.
“Can’t wait. Need you now.” I growled, hitching one of her legs higher around my waist.
“Yes,” she cried out, nails digging into my shoulders.
I pushed into her with one smooth stroke and fucked her against the door with quick, relentless pulses. Everything too good. Too real. I wanted to stay buried in her, in this moment, in this woman who saw something worthwhile in the broke, bearded version of me. But a war raged.
Every thrust reminded me that this was temporary.
Every moan warned that I’d fall harder if I wasn’t careful, and then I’d have to walk away.
The inheritance, the challenge, my whole damn life weighed heavily when I should have been blissfully happy inside her, fucking her so good.
Despite it all, the body wanted what it wanted. I came hard, growling her name on my lips, forehead pressed to hers, holding her tight. I filled the condom while the conflict churned inside me.
“Still feel like shaving?” She asked with a breathless chuckle, oblivious to my agony.
“Not anytime soon.” Tonight I just wanted to be hers. Her Carter. Her cowboy. That had to be enough for now.
A few days later, in the Copper Cup, Sage moved around in one of my Henleys, covering over a pair of her jeans. Sleepy-eyed and humming under her breath, she set the first pot of coffee brewing. The sun hadn’t risen yet.
After last time, I tried to stay away, to wait for the weekend to see her again, but I couldn’t. I needed more of her. By midweek, I broke down and begged and borrowed Jake’s truck and drove into town late last night to surprise her.
She kept humming a tune, setting a few cinnamon rolls into the warmer.
“I’d say there’s a very satisfied good girl in this kitchen right now.” I came up behind her, arms circling, nuzzling her earlobe.
After spending the night together again, we’d showered together this morning, hands exploring under the hot spray until we were both breathless and late. I’d steal a few more minutes now with her before I had to drive Jake’s truck back and get to work.
“Mm-hmm. Surprise me anytime you like. Black, right?” She asked, pouring a to-go cup for me.
“Perfect. Thanks.” I took a sip and nearly moaned. Strong, hot, no-fuss. Just like her. “I could get used to mornings like this.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Her eyes flicked up to mine, hope flashing there for a second that I didn’t mean to put there.
“Careful, cowboy. You keep saying things like that and I might start believing you’re sticking around.”
I set the cup down and pulled her into me, kissing the top of her head. “You know I wish things were different. But this job back East is important. They’re, uh, expecting me.”
“Who? What kind of work is it?”
I should have known she’d ask if I gave her an entry, especially on a morning like this where I let my guard down. She was too smart for this double life I led.
“I’ll tell you. But first, more kisses.” Easy distraction for her, buying me a minute to think about my answer.
Harper's arrival prevented my having to answer at all. Her voice carried in at us from the front door of the shop, breaking us apart.