Chapter Thirteen Savannah
Chapter Thirteen
Savannah
How ironic that Blaze spent the past years of his life protecting the freedoms of all Americans and yet he’s looped an invisible noose around my neck that he can just yank whenever he damn well pleases to pull me in with zero chance of escape.
Once upon a time, I’d have loved that. Being the center of his world, the one he can’t bear to have too far away, the one he’d do anything to keep close.
But this version . . . this angry, brooding bastard of a man doesn’t cherish me. He just wants to control me.
And even though I keep pushing him away, my body is alert and alive in a way it hasn’t been for six years.
I glance over at the vibrator on my nightstand and roll my eyes.
Seriously, what kind of head case am I, hauling out the Pink Panther because the man can still make me wet with nothing other than those turbulent whiskey eyes?
It’s like I’m a teenager again, aching and desperate and so turned on I can barely think straight. Except I’m not a teenager. And the man who’s got me wound so tight I could scream isn’t the boy I fell in love with.
This Blaze is harder. Dangerous in a way that should terrify me but instead makes my pulse spike every time he gets close.
I remember the boy from six years ago . . . teasing and reckless, with that sexy, crooked smile that promised trouble and made me want it anyway. His kisses were hungry but sweet. His hands were rough from ranch work but gentle whenever he touched me.
But this man? There’s nothing sweet or gentle about him.
And my God, his eyes . . .
They used to look at me with desire and heat and an edge of wildness that made my stomach flip.
Now they look at me like he’s starving. Like he wants to devour me and punish me and claim me all at once. They’re dark, intense, and so full of need they make my knees weak.
I hate that when he gets close my body responds like it’s been yearning for his touch for the past six years.
I reach for the Pink Panther before I can talk myself out of it.
This is pathetic. I should be thinking about Tyler, the sweet, attentive guy who’s emotionally available and interested and not actively trying to ruin my life.
But when I close my eyes and let my hand drift lower, it’s not Tyler I see.
It’s freaking Blaze.
Blaze backing me against the barn wall, his hand fisting my hair the way it used to, tugging my head back so he can trail his lips down my throat.
But this man in my mind isn’t Blaze from six years ago. It’s the man he’s become . . . rough, demanding, and unapologetic about what he wants.
His other hand slides under my pajama top, his calloused fingers sliding over my breast, flicking the nipple. He doesn’t ask permission. He just takes like he already owns it. Owns me.
“I missed you.” His deep growl hums against my neck, the tingles shooting straight to my core. “Thought about you every damn day, Savvie. Did you think about me?”
I turn on the vibrator, and the low buzz breaks the silence in my bedroom.
“Yes,” I rasp. In my head, it’s his fingers sliding between my thighs, grazing my wet slit.
“Christ, Savannah.” His breath is ragged. “You’re so wet for me. I knew you were still mine.”
“I’m not.” I breathe, even as my hips arch into the sensation. “I never was.”
“Liar.” His teeth latch onto my earlobe. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”
And he’s right, my fantasy Blaze, because my body does know. He’s known since I was eighteen years old that he could unravel me with a look, a touch, a single word.
My breath hitches, the Pink Panther pressing against my clit. I thrust against the vibrations. The fantasy shifts from the barn to my childhood bedroom, where he’s pressing me down into the mattress, his hard body grinding against me, holding me tight.
“Look at me,” he says. “I want you to see who’s making you feel this way. I want you to remember everything.”
Like I could forget.
Like six years was enough to erase the memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the way he used to growl my name as he came.
Except in my fantasy, there’s nothing gentle about it.
His kiss is demanding, almost punishing. His grip on my hip is tight enough to leave a bruise. His voice rumbles through me when he says, “Mine. You’ll always be mine. No matter how far you run.”
Even in my mind, his possessiveness should piss me off, make me shove him away and tell him he doesn’t own me.
But I don’t hate it. A deep shudder rocks me to my core, pushing me to the edge.
I love it. And while it may get me hot, it also scares the hell out of me.
A moan slips through my lips as I fuck myself with the vibrator, imagining it’s his thick cock plundering me.
“That’s it, baby. Let go. Show me.”
A rush of pleasure consumes me, and fuck my life, I can’t help myself from screaming his name.
Jagged breaths catch in my throat as I lie there, staring at my ceiling.
Dammit.
I just got myself off thinking about Blaze Hartman.
The same one who barreled back into my life a few days ago and looks at me like I’m his even though he has no claim on me.
I grab a pillow and press it over my face to silence my groan, the Pink Panther still clasped in my hand.
My body clearly didn’t get the memo that Blaze Hartman is bad news. That whatever pull he has on me . . . whatever infuriating, impossible-to-ignore thing still exists between us . . . needs to be shut down immediately, if not sooner.
Dammit, why not the vet? Why the freaking devil?
I throw off the covers and head for the bathroom to clean myself up. But I know soap and water can’t wash away the lingering hunger and heat coursing through me.
After getting dressed, I pull my hair into a ponytail, slip on my boots, and head out to the barn to check on one of the water troughs for the livestock.
Wind whispers through the grasses, the scents of sage and lavender permeating the air.
I pull the sides of my flannel button-down together and walk alongside the lavender fields.
I stoop down and hold some of the buds to my nose, pulling the sweetness into my lungs.
It makes me feel . . . not so alone. Like someone is here, watching over me. The early-morning sun beats down on my face. I stare out at the distant Bighorn Mountains, a shiver slipping down my spine.
Mom, Dad, Aunt Marg, Uncle Aaron. They’re here with me right now, watching over things.
I can feel them, smell them. Dad’s favorite cigars, the fragrant lavender, Mom’s famous lemon-blueberry scones.
Smells that’ve been branded into my memory, ones that bring me comfort in the face of uncertainty and fear.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. Guilt crashes over me. Tyler texted and called several times, and even though I already apologized, I feel the need to do it again.
“Hey, Tyler,” I say, biting down on my lower lip. “I am so sorry about leaving you like that last night.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. I understand, just like I understood last night. Things went a little sideways. I wanted to tell you I’m thinking about you. Last night needs a redo. What do you say? Let me take you on a proper date. I should have known that place wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“That sounds really nice. I’d love that.”
“How about Dolly’s? That a safe bet?”
“Oh, absolutely. Her dumplings and gravy are the absolute best. Not in the county or the state, but the best anywhere.”
“Sounds great. How about tomorrow night?”
“Perfect,” I say, a grin lifting my lips. “And this time, I’ll make sure we don’t get interrupted.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up around seven?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay. Take care, Savannah. See you tomorrow.”
I hang up the phone and continue walking toward the barn. I tap on my phone screen, a smile spreading across my face.
I’d found an online message board for this area and posted that Red Rock has land rental availability for cattle grazing.
It was probably a little premature, but since we aren’t using all of the space and rotate the cattle regularly from what I was told, we can start small and build up gradually.
I can keep the ranch hands here for longer every day if I offer more work and more pay.
Two people already reached out with questions about pricing, which has me feeling more hopeful than I have since the will reading. I can plan out the details with Mikey and Randy and create a schedule—
My brow furrows as I approach the barn. All the bales of hay are neatly piled, the floor of the barn raked and cleared.
The hands finished with their work early yesterday, and I didn’t get a chance to clean up myself afterward.
My heart jumps into my throat.
He still came, even after I told him to stay away.
I grab a bucket and walk over to the water pump. I twist the handle, my smile fading fast. What the heck? Bending down, I look closely and see that it’s loosened.
Heaving a deep sigh, I grab the wrench and go to work on tightening it again. I swore Blaze fixed it. How’d it come loose so quickly?
I twist it hard to the right, trying to tighten it as much as I can, when I hear a crack.
“No. No, no, no,” I mutter as water drizzles out of the spout again. I kick the fence, a growl of frustration knotting in my throat.
“You’re up early.”
I choke on a gasp and flip around to see Nash circling the barn with a shovel in his hand. “Well, yeah, there’s a lot to do. What are you doing here?” My eyes widen, and I point to the hay bales. I’d thought it was Blaze’s handiwork. “Oh my God. Did you do that?”
“It was no big deal.” He shrugs. “Thought you might need some help. Folks been talking about how much trouble you’re havin’ out here. I don’t want you asking anyone for help. It should be me doing the work with you. I don’t have work until later today, so I figured I’d stop by.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d want to be here with me. You kind of made that clear.”