Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
ROGAN
I come through the front door just as the last light leaks out of the sky and the world goes that electric shade of indigo you only get in Texas.
My rubbery legs barely hold my ass up, and my shoulders burn from shoveling out the goddamn cattle barn in triple-digit heat.
I just want to eat something cold, take the longest shower on record, and collapse face-first onto my bed.
That’s the plan. That’s always the plan, but the second I clear the foyer, I spot her through the wide kitchen doorway, standing at the sink, backlit by a column of gold dust and the dying sun.
I instantly turn into a goddamn statue. Not breathing, not blinking, not moving. There’s no logical reason for my brain to short-circuit over a woman rinsing a glass, but here we are. Shit out of logical reasoning.
She’s in soft, worn-in yoga pants that hug every damn curve and a faded T-shirt that looks three sizes too big but still manages to hint at the stunning curves underneath. I can almost hear her humming. I definitely hear my pulse trying to punch its way out of my chest.
For a full ten seconds, I just stand there in the hallway, staring, then realize she’s about to turn and catch me.
Without thinking, I wheel around and bolt straight for the side hallway, boots thumping so loud on the floorboards that I wince.
I’m six-foot-six and built like a linebacker, and I just ran away from my own kitchen because I was too chickenshit to look a woman in the eye.
The shame is almost enough to drown out the crazy fucking feelings pinging through me, but not quite.
I hit the foot of the stairs and let out a long, slow breath. Fucking pathetic. I run a million-dollar operation without blinking an eye, but the sound of a woman’s laugh through an open window makes my spine liquefy.
After making my way upstairs, I breathe a sigh of relief when I step into my cool room.
I toe off my boots and just stand there for a second, letting the stillness bleed some of the crazy out of me.
My bedroom is the only place in the house that feels safe.
The only place where I can pretend like I’m still in control of my own thoughts.
I’m about to strip and head for the shower when I see it. Dead center on my snow-white pillow, like a bullseye at a firing range, is a neon pink sticky note.
I take a step closer. I can see her handwriting from here—round, loopy letters with the occasional flare.
I pick up the note between two fingers, careful, like it’s rigged to explode.
The second it’s close to my face, I catch her scent, all warm vanilla and lavender.
It floods my head so fast I have to grip the note tight to keep my hand from shaking.
I read it and blink several times, then I read it again.
For a second, I just stare. Then the urge to laugh hits so hard my stomach clenches.
I can’t remember the last time I actually laughed.
It bubbles up and out before I can stop it, a loud, rough bark of surprise that bounces off the walls.
My hand goes straight to my mouth like I can catch it, but it’s too late.
The sound’s already out there, echoing around the room.
I drop onto the bed, still holding the note. My exhaustion’s gone, replaced by something raw. My body is humming. My cock is thick and alive, twitching in my jeans, ready to go.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, looking at the note, realizing how stupid this situation has gotten. I’m not a fucking teenager, but I’ve been acting like one since my new housekeeper moved in. Instead of fighting what I’m feeling for Sierra, I should’ve been giving her a reason to fall for me, too.
I shove up off the bed, heart jackhammering.
It’s time for me to rectify my mistake. Sierra wants me to talk to her, so I’ll give her what she wants.
My hands shake, and there’s just this wild, electric buzz in my veins, like the first time I crashed a dirt bike and realized I liked the danger.
I want her. Fuck, I need her like oxygen.
I stalk downstairs, boots barely making a sound on the old wood.
Kitchen’s empty except for the hum of the fridge and the ghost of her perfume lingering in the air.
It makes me even crazier. I run a hand down my chest, try to steady my breathing.
Doesn’t work. I spot her shadow through the butler’s pantry, flicking around like she’s on a mission.
She’s wiping down counters, humming some song under her breath, oblivious.
The sight of those yoga pants hugging her hips turns my cock to stone.
I freeze for a second in the doorway, fighting the urge to drag her to the nearest flat surface and fuck her until we both forget our goddamn names.
Instead, I clear my throat.
She jumps, then whirls around. “Jesus!” Her hand goes to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
My mouth twitches. “You wanted to talk.” It comes out rough, way rougher than I meant. I rest one hand on the doorframe and stare down at her. “Here I am.”
For a split-second, she just stands there, blinking like she can’t quite decide if she wants to yell at me or throw a dish towel at my head. I can see her chest rising and falling under that oversized T-shirt. She looks pissed. And fuck me, but it’s hot.
I take a step forward, crowding her up against the counter. The look on her face, that stubborn tilt to her chin, makes my cock throb like I’m about to bust open my damn jeans.
“Wow.” Her lips part, and her brown eyes go wide for a second. “I didn’t really think that would work.”
“It was time.” I don’t miss the way her eyes flick down to my mouth, then back up. Goddamn. It eases something inside me, knowing I affect her, too. “You want me to talk? Let’s talk.”
“Okay, big guy,” she shoots back, folding her arms. I can see the flush creeping up her throat, spreading hot and red across her skin. “You go first.”
I close the last few inches between us, trapping her with my hands on either side of the counter. She smells like lavender and vanilla and everything I crave. My body is at war with itself, but I’m past the point of pretending.
“You drive me fucking insane.” The words are out of my mouth before I can second-guess them.
That definitely is not what I’d planned to say.
Before I’m able to change directions, my mouth continues down its runaway path.
“I can’t think straight with you in the house.
I tried keeping it professional.” I lean in, voice dropping. “Didn’t work.”
She just stares, lips parted, breaths coming out shaky and uneven.
“Oh.” I lean in, just a breath away, close enough that I feel the heat rolling off her skin, and fuck, it’s intoxicating.
Her lashes flutter and her mouth opens wider, like she’s primed for whatever I’m about to do to her.
I’ve never wanted anyone this bad in my entire goddamn life.
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” I murmur, voice all grit and desperation.
I cup her jaw, rough palm dwarfed by the softness of her cheek.
Her wild curls tickle my knuckles. “You have no idea what you do to me, Sierra. I can’t function normally.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I do is think about you.
And all the things I want to do to you.” She trembles under my touch.
Doesn’t try to run, doesn’t even fake it.
Her eyes are locked on my mouth like she wants me to devour her right here on the counter.
My cock throbs, hard enough I see stars for half a second.
I’m done pretending, but my one last functioning brain cell decides to make sure she’s with me.
“If you don’t feel the same way, tell me now, and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened and go back to avoidance and Post-it notes. ”
“And if I do feel the same way?” She nibbles on her plump bottom lip.
“Then I kiss you.”