Chapter 9 Beau
Nine
Beau
I wake up before she does. That’s not unusual; been up at five my whole life. What’s new is the warm, soft, perfect woman curled into my side like she was built to fit there.
Ina’s lying on her stomach, her face turned toward me on the pillow.
Her braids are fanned out everywhere…messy, wild, half of them across my chest. Lips parted, full and swollen from last night, dark lashes resting against her cheeks.
And the sheet has slipped to her waist, leaving her bare back exposed…
smooth, golden-brown skin, the curve of her spine, the dimples at the base where her back meets the swell of her ass.
I don’t move. I just lie here like a man possessed, watching her breathe.
Her tits are pressed against the mattress, heavy and soft, spilling out from the side.
I can see the curve of one…the round, full underside, the dark edge of her nipple.
My cock twitches. Already. I’ve been inside this woman three times in the last eight hours and I’m getting hard again looking at her sleep.
Something’s wrong with me. Or everything’s right for the first time.
She smells like my sheets, my soap, and under it all…
that sun-warmed sugar scent that’s just her.
Just Ina. The scent that hit me at the fair and rearranged my entire brain chemistry.
It’s on my pillow. On my skin. I breathe it in, and my chest does something it’s never done before.
It aches. Not pain. Fullness. The kind that scares the shit out of you because you know what it means.
It means if this woman gets out of my bed and doesn’t come back, I’m fucked. Permanently.
I’ve never been afraid of shit. Not the dark, not failure, not walking away from Cornell.
But lying here with my woman’s bare body warm against mine, her breath on my chest, her scent soaked into everything I own?
I’m terrified. Because I can’t out-think my way into her heart.
Can’t study her into staying. All I can do is show up.
Every day. And prove I’m not the man who broke her.
I slowly ease out of bed, sliding a pillow where my body was, so she doesn’t stir. She murmurs something. Shifts. Buries her face deeper into my side of the bed…into the dip where I was, pressing her nose into the sheets like she’s chasing my scent in her sleep.
My chest cracks open.
I pull on sweats. Nothing else. Start the coffee. Crack eggs. Pull out the bacon. The cast iron’s already seasoned and hot by the time the kitchen smells right.
I’m standing shirtless at the stove, flipping pancakes, when I hear her. Bare feet on hardwood. A pause in the doorway.
I look over my shoulder. And damn near drop the spatula.
My woman is standing in my kitchen wearing my shirt.
The black tee from last night. It hangs to mid-thigh on her; the neckline stretched wide from my shoulders, slipping down to expose her collarbone and the top of one gorgeous tit.
The cotton clings to the heavy swell of her breasts…
no bra, her dark nipples poking through the fabric.
Her hips stretch the sides. And below the hem?
Just legs. Miles of thick, smooth, bare thighs.
I follow them all the way down to her bare feet on my floor and all the way back up to the curve of her ass barely hidden by the shirt’s edge.
My cock goes from half-hard to steel in about two seconds. I grip the spatula like it’s the only thing keeping me civilized.
Her braids are messy. Her eyes are half-shut and still puffy from sleep. She’s got a hickey on her neck…my hickey, dark against her brown skin…and pillow lines on her cheek. She looks like she got thoroughly fucked and barely slept and doesn’t know where she is.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I grin. Big. Stupid. Can’t help it.
“Mornin’, cowgirl.”
She blinks at me. Her dark eyes travel down my bare chest…slow, lingering on my stomach, lower, catching on the waistband of my sweats where my cock is making itself very fucking obvious. Her lips part.
“You cook?” she asks, her voice hoarse from sleep and screaming my name all night.
“Baby, I feed livestock every day. You think I’m not feeding my woman?”
Her eyes soften. Then cautious. Then she looks at the coffee maker like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. I watch her throat work on a swallow. Watch her thighs press together under my shirt.
“Your… woman?”
I walk over. Hand her a mug. Our fingers brush and the contact shoots straight to my cock. Her skin is warm from sleep. Soft. I want to put my mouth on every inch of it. Instead, I lean in and press my lips to her forehead. Slow. Breathing her in. Sugar and sleep, and me.
“Sit. Eat.”
She does. Because her legs are still shaky…I can tell by the way she lowers herself onto the stool. Good. She should feel me today. Every time she sits, crosses her legs, takes a step. I want her to ache in places that remind her who put the ache there.
She eats at the island. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. The whole spread.
And my girl eats like she hasn’t been fed in a week.
I watch her mouth close around the fork.
Watch her tongue catch syrup at the corner of her lip.
Watch her throat move when she swallows.
Her jaw flexing. Her full lips wrapping around the rim of her coffee mug.
Feed her. Take care of her. Keep her. Knock her up. In that order.
She catches me watching and pauses mid-bite. “You always stare this much?”
“Just at you, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head. But she’s smiling…trying to hide it behind her mug and failing. The smile reaches her eyes and crinkles the corners, lighting up her entire face. I want to make her smile like that every morning for the rest of my life.
We’re halfway through breakfast when her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances at the screen, and her entire body tenses. Her spine straightens. Her smile drops.
“Shit. It’s Lilah.”
She grabs the phone and answers, clearing her throat like she’s about to take a business call. Except she’s sitting in my kitchen in my shirt with my cum still inside her, so the professional act is… ambitious.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, Mom. You sound weird.”
Two words into the call and the kid smells blood. Smart girl. Must get it from her mom.
I chuckle. Low. Under my breath. Apparently not low enough.
Lilah pauses. “Wait… who was that?”
Ina’s eyes go wide. She slaps her hand over the mic and mouths I will kill you at me. I lean against the counter, take a sip of coffee, and watch my woman unravel. Her face is priceless. The panic. The way she’s gripping that phone like it’s a grenade.
“Mom?” Lilah’s voice goes sharp. “Who is that?”
Ina removes her hand. “Yes, baby?”
“Who. Is. That.”
She should lie. Say it’s the TV. Miguel. A podcast. But my girl panics. And when Ina panics, her mouth runs before her brain can catch up. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
“He’s a… he works in genetics.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
“You’re sleeping with a scientist?!” Lilah sounds like Christmas came early.
Ina squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s a cattle-breeding specialist.”
I’m done. Shoulders heaving. Tears forming. She smacks my chest without looking at me…her small palm hitting my bare skin, the sting of it so light it barely registers. But I feel it. I feel every time she touches me, even in annoyance.
“Oh my GOD, Mom.” Lilah hits a pitch that could shatter glass. “You’re sleeping with the bull guy?!”
I lean toward the phone. “I’m Beau.”
“BEAU?!”
Ina looks like she wants the earth to open up and eat her whole. “He’s just…”
“Mom. You sound like you’re still in bed. Are you in bed with the bull guy right now?”
Ina hangs up. Stares at the phone. Then at me. Her brown eyes, wide. Her full lips pressed together. A vein in her forehead that I’ve never seen before, pulsing.
“This is a fucking nightmare.”
I pull her off the stool and into my arms. She resists for half a second…
her hands flat on my bare chest, her fingertips pressing into my pecs…
then collapses against me. Her face tucks into my neck.
Her arms wrap around my waist. She’s warm and small against me, her tits pressed soft against my stomach, her breath hot on my throat.
“You okay, Mama?”
“Don’t call me that.”
I grin into her hair. She smells like maple syrup and sleep and my soap.
“I’m never showing my face again.”
“Yes, you are. And you’re gonna be glowing when you do.”
She groans into my neck. The vibration makes my cock twitch against her belly. Down, boy.
“Ugh.”
I kiss the top of her head. Hold her there. My arms wrapped around her waist, her body soft against mine. Her heart beating fast against my ribs. She fits here. In my arms, in my kitchen, in my life. She fits.
“Thought I already did,” I murmur.
She goes still. Pulls back. Stares at me. “Did you just…”
“I mean…” I shrug. “If the boot fits.”
“Oh my God, Beau!” She grabs a dish towel and whips it at my chest. I catch it, laughing. Deep and full. She’s trying to look furious, but her lips are twitching and her eyes are bright.
“I hate you,” she mutters.
“No, you don’t.”
“I really, really do.”
I pull her back in. She fights it for one second before melting into me again. Her cheek on my bare chest. Her fingers tracing the line of muscle along my side …light, lazy, probably not even conscious of it. But I feel it. Every brush of her fingertips on my skin registers like fire.
I tip her chin up with one finger. Her brown eyes …warm, flustered, open. My girl’s letting me see her without her armor on, and she doesn’t even realize it.
“Ina.”
“What now?”
“I want you in my life. Permanently.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Something falls off the counter …a fork, maybe. Neither of us looks.
“I want to be with you. Move here, if you want. Stay on my side of the ranch. Shit, I’ll move wherever you want. I don’t care.”
She stares at me. The laughter gone. The embarrassment too. Just her, stripped bare, searching my face for the lie. Her dark eyes moving over mine. My mouth. My jaw. Looking for the thing that tells her this is too good to be true.
“You’re serious.”
“As a goddamn heart attack.”
“Beau.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “That’s… huge. You’re thirty.”
“And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I know what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
I hold her eyes. And give her everything.
“You. Every day. Every night. In my bed. On my land, carrying my name and my kids. Everything you’ll give me, Ina. I’ll take it. Cherish it. Fucking protect it with my life.”
Her eyes fill. Her jaw works. She blinks fast, and tears slip down her cheeks …rolling over her smooth skin, catching at the corner of her full lips. She’s beautiful when she cries. Shit, all the time.
I lean in and kiss her. Slow. Deep. Tasting salt and syrup and her. When I pull back, her cheeks are wet, and she’s gripping my forearms hard enough to leave marks.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere. Just needed you to know.”
She nods. Swipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Lets out a shaky breath that I feel warm on my bare chest.
“You’re insane,” she whispers. But she’s smiling.
“About you?” I kiss her forehead. “Absolutely.”
When she’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes and my shirt, we linger at the front door. I can’t stop touching her. My hand on her hip. My mouth on her jaw. Her neck. The spot below her ear that makes her shiver every time.
“I’ll swing by later.”
“You don’t have to…”
I smile. “Try to stop me.”
I slap her ass…feel it bounce under my palm, full and round and perfect through her thin shorts…and she yelps. Giggles. That sound going through my ribs like a blade.
“Now go before I drag you back to bed.”
She shakes her head, laughing. Walks to her SUV. Her hips swaying. Her braids bouncing against her back.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her drive away. Her taillights fading into the morning dust. The road going quiet.
Then I go back inside. Pour another coffee. Sit at the island that still smells like pancakes and her perfume. Look through the open bedroom door at the wrecked sheets, the dented pillows, where she slept curled against me.
My house doesn’t feel empty anymore.
I bring the coffee to my lips. And smile.
Because my woman just left. And she’s going to spend the whole day smelling like me.