Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
elena
Giddy isn’t typically a word I’d use to describe myself. Except for at this moment as we drive to my hotel in a black Dodge Ram. There’s some kind of logo with a bull skull on the door, but I can’t make any words out.
When my irresistible cowboy helps me into the passenger seat, I think he’s going to kiss me.
He doesn’t and the anticipation of not knowing when or if he will, is making me crazy.
We haven’t exchanged names. Or professions. Or any details at all. And yet, there really are reins in the backseat of the extended cab. He wasn’t kidding earlier. This is going to happen, and it is going to happen soon.
I’m wound tight from the anxiety of coming here, still tense from the traveling and the conversation with my mother. I hope this isn’t going to be an awkward encounter like the one with Diego.
By the time we pull into a parking lot in front of The Wayfarer Inn, I’m practically vibrating with anticipation. I’ll probably come the minute he breathes near me.
“I checked in earlier, but I still have to get a key from the front desk,” I say as he holds the truck door open for me, surprised at how soft and nervous my typically clear voice sounds.
He only nods and gestures for me to lead the way.
The Wayfarer looks like it’s built from the woods surrounding Main Street.
All dark wood paneling, wrought iron fixtures, and slow-drifting jazz piping through the lobby.
It’s elegant in that old-world, frontier-meets-art-deco way, like someone spent a fortune making it feel like a whiskey-soaked dream.
I barely take it in because I’m hyperaware of the man beside me.
The heat of his arm. The quiet command of his stride.
How every step he takes seems to affect gravity.
We haven’t said much since we left the bar. Just a look. One shared, loaded glance that said yes. No names. No expectations. Just want. No—need.
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. We stop at the reception desk, and I swear I can feel the energy shift the moment the clerk sees him.
“Good even—oh. Hey,” the receptionist purrs. Her voice is warm, syrupy. A little too familiar. “How have you been, stranger?”
She’s all smiles until she sees me.
Then she glances back at him.
I try not to bristle.
“I’ve been just fine, Jess,” he replies, voice low and dry as aged bourbon. Then, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, he turns to me. “You said you have a reservation.”
I nod and slide my ID over the desk, careful to not reveal my name since we agreed to no names. Then make direct eye contact with the young girl so she can focus for five seconds.
“I came by earlier and already checked in. I’m in town for work. I’m supposed to be in a suite on the top floor,” I tell her. “But they said they were still cleaning it when I arrived.”
A flicker of something tightens her expression. “Of course. They took your bags up already. I think my manager left a note here with the key somewhere.” She scrambles until she produces a keycard. “Room 633. Looks like it’s a king suite.”
“Perfect,” my cowboy says with a wink at me.
The clerk huffs out a breath and types something into the system. “You’re good to go.” She forces a tight smile at me, then eyes him wistfully, and I’ve never been more certain that someone wanted to murder me and steal my identity than right this moment.
I take the key card and my ID from her, mumbling a thank you she ignores.
We head toward the elevator, and I steal a glance at him. “Come here often?”
“Not really,” he says. “I played high school football with her older brother. Nothing going on there.”
I lift a brow. “She seems to be keeping hope alive.”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “Does it matter?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Um, no?”
He chuckles softly as his gaze dips to my lips. “Good. Because you’re the only woman I’m thinking about at the moment.”
I should stop walking. I should stop this. Tell him this was a dumb, impulsive idea and send him home. I have an early morning tomorrow—it wouldn’t even be a lie.
Instead, I follow him into the elevator like a woman under a spell.
The elevator is one of those old, restored ones—rich mahogany paneling, brass rails, the faint scent of leather and wood polish clinging to the air like history.
And him.
God, the scent of him.
I swear the small space shrinks the second the doors close, like the air gets sucked out by the gravity of his presence. I can feel it between us—thick and hot and crawling over my skin like wildfire.
“Still want this to be anonymous?” he asks once the doors close.
“I think that’s probably best,” I say, unsure as to why I want this to feel so scandalous.
His mouth twitches, like he knows I’m full of shit.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his knuckles brushing mine as the elevator climbs. “Then I won’t ask your name until morning.”
I don’t tell him there’s a good chance I’ll be gone before he wakes up.
I’m supposed to be at Triple Creek Ranch at 7:00 a.m. sharp for breakfast then training.
My dad always taught us to be ten minutes early everywhere we went—fifteen if it was for work.
Early was on time, he’d say, and on time was late.
But I can’t make myself think about tomorrow yet. I can barely think about anything other than my proximity to this man.
What is it about elevators? My mind conjures a vivid fantasy where this one breaks down and he devours me while we wait for help. I try to shake it away, not wanting to create any false expectations that might lead to a letdown later.
He watches me like he's already undressing me with his eyes, reading my mind while enjoying the look of me squirming under the weight of it.
"Nervous?" he finally asks, his voice pitched low. Rough.
"Not even a little." My voice is steadier than I expected.
One side of his mouth tips up. “Liar.”
I bite my lower lip, fighting off the grin of being called on my bullshit as the elevator comes to a stop. I swallow hard as he steps closer, deliberately, leaving just enough space that we’re not touching.
But it’s worse than if we were.
Because now, all I can do is imagine it.
The brush of his knuckles. His palms on my hips. His mouth right there on my neck, where the pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird.
He’s still not touching me. But I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his breath hot on my skin when he speaks again.
The doors open but he doesn’t move.
“You change your mind at any time,” he says, “you say the word. We stop.”
He reaches out an arm to keep the doors open.
My chin tips up. “Same goes for you. I can be a little much.” Or a lot much if you ask any of my previous lovers.
His eyes darken. His jaw ticks. “I don’t think that will be an issue.”
Her jerks his chin and I check the signs with the room numbers, then turn right toward my suite.
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re about to blow my mind, cowboy? Gonna change my life, ruin me for every other guy?”
He smirks and a small, amused sound escapes him. “I prefer to show, not tell.”
I blink up at him, electricity crackling down my spine. “Good. In my experience, guys who do a lot of talking are typically a disappointment.”
He arches a brow as we reach the door. “I can say with one hundred perfect certainty, whatever we do in this room will not be a disappointment.”
“Mighty big talk,” I tease.
“I’m about to show you ‘mighty big,’ spitfire. Open the door.”
I scan the key card and open the door. He holds it open then follows inside.
The minute we’re both inside, letting the door close behind us, my seemingly cool cowboy turns savage as he presses me against the wall.
“Fuck, watching you ride that bull nearly killed me,” he admits.
“Did it?” I tease. “If that was too much for you, then how are you going to handle me riding you?”
His eyes flash. “Very carefully.”
He shocks me by gripping my jaw and staring into my eyes just before crashing his mouth to mine.
I hadn’t expected kissing. Hadn’t really wanted it since this was just a one off. But he’s so damn good at it, I lose myself in him.
His tongue sweeps inside, and I moan loudly without meaning to. He tastes so good I want to tell him so. He swallows my whimpers then thrusts an enormous denim-clad erection against my thigh.
Mighty big might’ve been an understatement.
“Fuck,” I bite out, catching my breath as I angle to dry hump the massive monster in his pants. My clit zings at the contact as my pussy clenches on emptiness.
“Easy, spitfire. We have all night.”
He pulls back to grin at me, and I barely resist the urge to bite him. That’s new.
I pout. Also new.
But I thought this was about to be a rough hot fuck against a door. My throbbing clit thought so too.
“Please tell me we’re not about to make small talk,” I say. “I thought we were keeping it anonymous.”
“We are,” he murmurs, that infuriating smirk still on his masculine mouth. He leans in until his intoxicating breath ghosts over my cheek. “Doesn’t mean I can’t learn the way you taste first.”
He doesn’t kiss me again.
He grabs my hand instead, strong and steady, leading me over to the bed. Taking charge still but slowing the pace a bit.
The lamp in the corner illuminates the room and my brain registers how surprisingly luxurious this room is despite the obvious older age of the building.
I’m struggling to adjust. And think straight.
He retrieves the reins he must’ve somehow smuggled in here in the back of his jeans.
He tosses them onto the bed. “Ladies first. Need me to talk you through tying a knot?”
I barely bite back a smile.
Oh, cowboy, have I got some surprises for you.