Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CASSIA
I think I'm in over my head. Actually, I was in over my head well before I ever stepped foot onto Cord's ranch. But my toxic trait is thinking I can handle things I most definitely cannot handle, so I convinced myself if I just kept going with my insane plan, everything would work out fine.
"This is not fine," I whisper-hiss to myself in the bathroom mirror, yanking Cord's comb through my wet hair.
I'm dressed in his clothes, in his bathroom, using his comb.
And he's standing guard outside the door.
I think he's worried I'm going to try to jump out the bathroom window.
I'm not. I won't fit. I already checked.
He raps on the door, rattling the whole thing in the frame.
"Hold your horses, cowboy!" I shout, jumping a foot into the air as my heart knocks against my breastbone.
Jesus. I need to get myself under control.
He kissed me and turned me into a crazy person.
Okay, so maybe he turned me into a crazy person when he started emailing me.
Whatever. The point is, I'm a twenty-six-year-old woman.
I've been on my own since I was eighteen.
Even before then, I was taking care of myself.
I pay my own bills, own my own home, and my own business.
I take care of my own orgasms, and even know how to change my own oil.
I cannot go full stupid over a man. Even if he does look like Cord Decker and talk like Cord Decker and smirk like Cord Decker and make me tingle like Cord Decker… .
"You told him you were a cattle thief," I remind myself. "Who does that?!"
This is beyond the pale, even for me. I'm risking actual jailtime here, all because I'm literally terrified to admit that I came here to see him.
It makes no sense, not even in my head. But there's something about him that just…
scares the crap out of me. It's a little voice, growing louder and more insistent by the minute.
One telling me that he's important. I heard it whispering in Seattle.
It's only grown louder since I got here.
Except real life doesn't work like my books.
People don't fall in love over email. Men like Cord don't end up with women who look like me.
That's not insecurity talking either. That's simply the way the world works.
Hot, successful men end up with hot, successful women.
Not with dramatic, curvy authors who prefer cats to people and can't even leave the house without causing trouble.
My mom has been saying it my whole life.
If you don't lose a little weight, you'll never find a man.
Men like women who put in effort, daughter.
If you don't stop talking so much, you'll die alone, Cassiopeia.
Smile more. Stand up straight. Be silent. No one cares about your silly little books.
Grow up. Real life isn't a fairytale.
I've always done my best to tune her out and ignore her. If the men she always brought home were what I had to look forward to, I figured I was better off anyway. But none of them ever looked at her the way Cord looked at me today. There was a softness in his eyes I've never seen before.
He knows I'm not a cattle thief. In fact, I'm pretty sure he knows exactly who I am. Yet he's playing along anyway. I have no idea how I'm going to talk myself out of this without sounding deranged. I need time to figure it out. Luckily, I seem to have plenty of that since I'm stuck here.
Crap. The girls.
They're going to flip when I don't come back.
"I'll just tell them I'm stranded because of the storm!
" I blurt. They never have to know that I told this man I was a cattle thief.
As for Cord, I'll just explain that I was doing research for a book and needed it to be as authentic as possible.
He'll probably be grumpy about it, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
It's far better than admitting that I came here to secretly spy on him, got caught by his bull, nearly died, and then came up with a terrible cover story. Right?
It's the truth. Only less like me and more…palatable.
"Rhys is going to kill me."
"Who the fuck is Rhys?" Cord growls from the doorway.
I scream, flinging the comb in his direction.
I watch in horror as it whips through the air, headed straight toward his face.
He snatches it out of mid-air like freaking Batman and tosses it toward the sink.
He doesn't even look at it. He just grabs it and throws it aside as he stomps toward me, looking all hot and grumpy.
"Who the fuck is Rhys, Cassia?" he growls.
"You scared the crap out of me."
"Answer the question." He stops in front of me, a thunderous scowl on his face, hands on his hips, feet planted apart, far too sexy for me to deal with right now.
Thank God he put on a shirt, or I would not survive this confrontation.
He's covered in tattoos from his neck to his waist. If real cowboys look like him, I've been doing my readers a disservice because mine certainly aren't built like this.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're bossy?" I ask, trying to focus on anything other than the existence of those tattoos.
He growls at me. Actually growls. It's the single most menacing sound I've ever heard, and yet it instantly sets my girly parts on fire.
"He's my older brother," I hurry to say.
His expression softens.
"Well, half-brother, I guess. We have the same mom, but his dad raised him."
"You were raised by a single mom?"
I roll my eyes toward the skylight above us. "Single means something different to her than it does to the rest of the world."
"Explain."
"She's only taken when it's convenient for her," I explain. "She cheated on Rhys's dad with another man, and then cheated on that man with my dad. My dad left her for another woman, which was poetic justice, honestly."
"I take it this happened often? Here." He wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me, making me squeak in protest. But before I can even complain, he's already deposited me on the cabinet and knelt to rummage through the drawers.
"Stop picking me up," I complain anyway. "I can move myself places just fine. And you say happened as if you expect that the behavior ended at some point."
He lifts his head, those gray eyes meeting mine. "She's still doing it?"
"It's like Taylor Swift says in All Too Well. She got older, but her boyfriends didn't," I say, watching as he rises to his feet with an ace bandage in his hands. "She's fifty-three. Husband number six—or is it seven? —is thirty-four, the same age as my brother. What are you going to do with that?"
"Wrap your ankle."
"Oh." I exhale a relieved breath.
"What did you think I was going to do with it?" One dark brow slowly rises toward his hairline. The fine lines around his eyes deepen.
"Tie me to the furnace in your basement."
His gaze sweeps across me, his eyes heating.
His upper lip curls into a smirk that does wicked things to my insides.
My stomach turns a backflip and then another, my thighs growing damp.
I can already tell it's going to be a very uncomfortable day.
I have no panties on, and I'm going to soak right through his oversized sweats if he keeps looking at me like he wants to eat me for dinner.
I rip my gaze away from his, trying to think about anything other than him eating me.
I focus on the wall behind him instead. His bathroom is gorgeous.
The whole house is beautiful, honestly. It's a massive farmhouse with rustic furniture, cream walls, and red accents.
The bathroom walls are slate gray with matching tile floors.
The shower is incredible. I used all the hot water and don't even feel sorry about it.
"You really live here alone?" I ask as he reaches for my foot to wrap up my ankle. It's starting to swell. It hurts like hell too. He brought me some pain relievers when he brought me clothes, but they haven't helped much.
"Yep. My brother lives up the mountain and my sister lives in town."
"What about your parents?"
A flash of grief crosses his face.
"Died," he rasps. "Car wreck."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Cord." I place a hand on his arm, my heart aching for him. I don't know what it's like to have normal parents or a close-knit family, but it's obvious he does. There are pictures all over the house, though I didn't get a good look at any of them. "How long ago?"
"Fifteen years."
We fall silent as he finishes wrapping up my ankle and then helps me down from the counter. He keeps one hand extended toward me as if to catch me while I test out the wrapping. My ankle twinges in discomfort, but it's not nearly as bad this time.
"How does that feel?" he asks.
"Better. Thank you," I whisper, and then fidget restlessly. "Um, I have to let my friends know that I'm okay or they'll be worried about me. My brother too."
"You have your cellphone?"
"Are you going to confiscate it?" I ask, suspicious.
He smiles at me. "We both know you aren't here to steal or liberate my cattle, Cassia. We also know you aren't going anywhere on that ankle until after the storm. Besides, you have no shoes. So no, I'm not confiscating your phone. I don't need to take it to keep you here."
He's right, dang it.
"Then you don't need to tie me up either," I point out. Maybe I don't need to tell him the truth right away. If he isn't going to tie me up, I can have a little bit of fun with him first. He did spend six weeks complaining about my books, after all.
"Oh, pretty baby," he says, wrapping one hand around my hip and tugging gently until I'm pressed up against him. His mouth lands against the side of my neck. "If I tie you up, it won't be because I need to do it. It'll be because I want you spread out and at my mercy."