17
The knock came while Talia was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, laptop open, notes spread around her like evidence at a crime scene.
She glanced toward the door.
Lisa was gone. Cassi and Ruby were out too. For once, the bunkhouse was quiet enough for Talia to actually hear her own thoughts, which had not been especially helpful because most of those thoughts kept circling Gordon Windgate like a hawk refusing to land.
The knock came again.
Talia closed her laptop halfway and slid off the bunk. “Coming.”
She opened the door and froze.
Gordon stood on the porch, one hand braced against the frame, wearing the same grin she had seen on his face earlier.
Not a small smile.
Not the barely there curve of his mouth that appeared and disappeared like he regretted allowing it.
A full grin.
Bright.
Excited.
Almost boyish.
It did terrible things to her ability to think.
“Grab your shoes,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
Talia blinked. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m working.”
“Work can wait.”
She stared at him. “You are the last person I expected to say that.”
“I know. That’s how you know it’s important.”
He looked so excited she found herself moving before she had decided to move. “Give me a second.”
She stepped back, then caught sight of herself in the small mirror near the door and nearly died.
Her bonnet was still on.
A pale satin bonnet, slightly crooked, because she had been trying to protect her curls while she worked.
She had no bra on beneath her loose tank top.
Her cutoff shorts were old, soft, and absolutely not meant for public viewing.
They were the kind of shorts a woman wore alone, in private, when the day was over and dignity had been placed gently on a shelf.
She looked down at herself.
Oh, Lord.
She could ask for five minutes.
She should ask for five minutes.
But Gordon was standing on the porch smiling like the world had handed him something he had never expected to hold.
Talia touched the bonnet, grimaced, and yanked it off. Her curls had been flattened against her head on one side. She shoved her fingers into them, fluffing and pulling, trying to coax them into looking intentional.
After three seconds, she gave up.
“Screw it,” she muttered.
She shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her phone, and stepped outside.
Gordon had not moved.
He was still in the same spot, still smiling like he had just won the lottery and was trying not to tell the whole county.
That smile made her forget herself for half a second.
Then she stepped down from the porch and remembered exactly what she was wearing.
Or not wearing.
Her breasts moved freely beneath the thin fabric of her top, and Talia immediately regretted every decision that had led to this moment. Her arms instinctively started to fold, but not before Gordon’s gaze dropped.
And stayed.
She stopped on the bottom step.
“Gordon.”
His eyes snapped up.
Too late.
She knew what he had been looking at.
A slow heat climbed her neck. She stepped closer and gave his arm a soft punch. “Stop staring. They’re just breasts.”
Gordon’s jaw flexed.
He wanted to tell her there was no man alive who could comply with a request that unreasonable. Not with her standing there in cutoffs, boots, wild curls, and a top thin enough to make him question every moral lesson his mother ever taught him.
He liked her curves.
He liked them more than was safe.
He liked the softness of her, the confidence she tried to keep even when embarrassment put color in her cheeks, the way she met his eyes after catching him staring like she was daring him to deny it.
He had no intention of denying it.
But he also had enough sense not to say what he was thinking.
Mostly.
“I was … admiring the view,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “That was not respectful.”
“It was the truth.”
She stared at him like she wanted to be offended and amused at the same time.
He moved toward the truck before his gaze betrayed him again. “Come on.”
He opened the passenger door for her.
Talia hesitated. “Where are we going? Because I might need to change.”
Gordon smiled. “Don’t freak out. We’re not leaving the ranch. No one but me is going to be around you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That does not sound as reassuring as you think it does.”
“It should. I’m very trustworthy.”
“You say that like a man who expects me not to ask for evidence.”
“You’ve been interviewing me for a week. You have pages of evidence.”
“I also have eyes.”
“So do I,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her mouth parted.
Gordon turned slightly, pretending to inspect the truck door.
Talia folded her arms over her chest and climbed inside.
He closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side, fighting a smile. When he got in, he noticed immediately that her seat belt was fastened and both arms were folded firmly across her chest.
Blocking his view.
Fair.
Probably wise.
He started the engine and turned the truck around, heading back toward the cottages.
The truck still felt too new beneath his hands.
Not just new from the dealership, but new to him.
New because it was his. Because the fob in his pocket belonged there now.
Because Luke had placed it in his hand and everyone had stood around like giving Gordon a truck was the most natural thing in the world.
It still did not feel natural.
Neither did the cottage.
He would have to pack up his one duffle bag later. Move his clothes, his books, his razor, the few things that belonged only to him. It wouldn’t take long. That was another strange thing. A whole life that could be moved in under an hour.
He glanced at Talia.
She stared straight ahead, arms still crossed.
He glanced again.
“What?” she asked without looking at him.
“Nothing.”
“You looked.”
“I’m driving. I look around.”
“At the road, Gordon.”
“The road is still there.”
She turned her head slowly.
He kept his eyes forward, but he smiled.
“You are enjoying this,” she said.
“A little.”
“I am underdressed.”
“You’re covered.”
“Barely.”
He swallowed, because the word did not help.
“Then maybe stop saying things like barely.”
Her breath caught, just slightly.
The cab went quiet.
Not empty quiet.
Loaded quiet.
Gordon tightened his hand on the wheel.
This was why he had come to get her without thinking it through.
Excitement had driven him to the bunkhouse, wanting to show her the truck, the cottage, the evidence that the ranch had made room for him.
But now she was beside him, warm and disheveled and too close, and the whole situation felt more dangerous than he had planned.
They reached the cottages, and Gordon slowed before parking in the gravel drive where he had parked earlier.
He jumped out, but before he could make it around to open her door, Talia was already out and moving toward him.
Of course she was.
She probably considered door-opening another thing to argue about.
When she came close, Gordon reached for her hand.
On instinct, Talia almost pulled away.
She felt it happen inside her first. The old recoil. The warning. The memory that touching led to questions she was not ready to answer.
But Gordon’s hand was warm.
Solid.
Not grabbing.
Holding.
She let him keep it.
“Come on,” he said.
He led her up the porch steps and put a key in the lock.
A key.
His key.
For some reason, that made her throat tighten.
They stepped inside.
Talia looked around.
The cottage was nice. New. Clean. Simple. A little underdecorated, but not cold. A sofa. Two chairs. A coffee table. A small dining set. Lamps. Curtains. Shelves. The kind of basics that said someone had wanted him comfortable but had not wanted to decide who he was for him.
Gordon let go of her hand.
“This is my place,” he said.
The words were quiet, but she heard what was beneath them.
Wonder.
Pride.
Fear.
“That’s…” She looked around again. “That’s a lot.”
“It is.” His smile returned, smaller now. “I’ve never had my own place before. Not a private place I didn’t have to share.”
That hit her harder than she expected.
He had never had a place that was simply his.
Not a childhood room that felt safe.
Not a family house that wanted him.
Not an apartment. Not a cottage. Not a door that belonged to him alone.
Talia’s arms lowered without her noticing.
“I’m glad you brought me,” she said.
His eyes moved to hers.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
The air shifted again.
He looked away first and gestured toward the hall. “I’ll show you around.”
The tour was not long.
Living room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Empty second bedroom.
Talia followed him, taking in the furniture, the unused counters, the neatly folded towels, the empty closet waiting for more than one duffle bag.
“How old are you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Gordon looked back from the doorway of the second bedroom. “What?”
“How old are you?”
His brows lifted. “You did research.”
“Yes, but I don’t remember seeing your age. Or your birthday.”
“Twenty-two.”
Talia went still.
Twenty-two.
She had known he was young.
Of course she had known. But knowing and hearing were not the same. His steadiness, the weight in him, the seriousness in his eyes made him feel older. Pain did that sometimes. Work too.
Gordon watched her face. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“It is.”
“Talia.”
She sighed. “I just didn’t realize you were that young.”
He scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m a baby.”
“You’re not a baby.”
“How old are you?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Thirty-four.”
He did not react the way she expected.
No flinch.
No retreat.
Just a slight tilt of his head.
She added, because apparently she liked making herself suffer, “I was in junior high when you were born.”
That got him.
His mouth twitched. “That supposed to scare me?”
“It should at least give you pause.”
“Why?”
“Because twelve years is not nothing.”
“Is my age a problem?”
Talia folded her arms again, partly because of the conversation, partly because she had suddenly remembered the missing bra. “We’re not involved in a relationship, so no. It doesn’t matter.”
Gordon tilted his head to one side.
“I disagree.”
Her heart gave a hard kick. “With what?”
“We are in a relationship.”
“No, we are in an arrangement.”
“That’s a kind of relationship.”
“You know what I mean. We’re not romantically involved, so your age and mine are irrelevant.”
Gordon smiled.
Not big.
Not sweet.
Dangerous.
Before she could protest, he stepped close, caught her lightly by the waist, and pulled her to him.
“Gordon.”
He kissed her.
The word disappeared against his mouth.
Talia’s entire body forgot every argument it had prepared.
His lips were warm, firm, and sure. Not rough, but not hesitant either. He kissed her like he had been thinking about it too long and had finally run out of reasons not to. She tasted coffee on him. Bacon. Mint. Something that was just Gordon, clean skin and heat and the faint dust of the ranch.
She should have pushed him away.
Instead, she melted.
Her hands went to his chest, intending to create distance, but somehow they stayed there, fingers curling into his shirt. He made a low sound in his throat, and the kiss deepened.
Talia forgot the cottage.
The age difference.
The article.
The job.
The missing bra.
Everything narrowed to Gordon’s mouth, Gordon’s hands, the hard strength of him against the softness of her body, the way he kissed like a man who did not know how to be casual once he had decided to want.
She wanted too.
That was the terrifying part.
She wanted him with a force that had nothing to do with strategy, curiosity, or professional obligation.
A knock sounded at the door.
Talia’s senses slammed back into place.
She pushed him away.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough to breathe.
They stared at each other.
Both breathing hard.
Gordon’s eyes were dark, fixed on her mouth.
Talia’s lips tingled. Her hands trembled. Her nipples had tightened beneath her top, and she suddenly remembered exactly why she should have taken five minutes to put on a bra.
The knock came again.
Gordon turned his head toward the door, jaw flexing.
For one wild moment, she thought he might ignore it.
Then he stepped back, ran one hand over his mouth, and went to answer.
He opened the door.
Cody stood on the porch.
He looked from Gordon to Talia, then back to Gordon.
His eyebrows lifted only slightly, but in cowboy language, it might as well have been a siren.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Talia said too fast.
Gordon said nothing.
Cody’s gaze flicked toward her crossed arms, her bare legs, her messy curls, then respectfully away.
Talia wanted the floor to open.
Cody cleared his throat. “I spoke with Luke. He said you’re interested in learning about breeding horses.”
Gordon’s attention sharpened, though his breathing still had not fully settled. “Yes.”
“Dwight and I talked it over with Travis. If you’ve got a minute, we can discuss the schedule we think might work.”
Talia moved closer to the door. “I should get back to the bunkhouse. I need to work on our article.”
She stepped around Gordon quickly, arms folded tight over her chest to hide the evidence of what that kiss had done to her.
She wished with her entire soul that she had put on a bra.
Cody stepped aside immediately. “If I’m interrupting, we can do this another time.”
Talia shook her head. “No. This is important.”
She did not look at Gordon.
Could not.
“Congratulations on the cottage and the truck,” she said, already moving down the porch steps.
“Talia,” Gordon said.
She stopped at the bottom step but kept her back to him.
“I can take you back to the bunkhouse if you don’t mind waiting while I talk to Cody.”
Cody added, “Won’t take long. I just wanted him to know what days he’ll be working with me and Travis.”
Talia shook her head and kept walking. “It’s fine. I can walk.”
“Talia.”
She did not turn.
If she turned, she might look at his mouth.
If she looked at his mouth, she might forget why leaving was necessary.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she called.
Then she walked away from the cottage, from Cody, from Gordon, from the kiss still burning on her lips, arms folded over her chest like she could hold herself together by force.
Behind her, Gordon remained on the porch.
She felt him watching.
She did not look back.
She had told herself lust was manageable.
She had been wrong.
Lust was no longer the problem.
The problem was that when Gordon Windgate kissed her, it felt less like a mistake and more like a door opening.
And Talia could not afford to walk through it.