Chapter 12
MADDIE
My biggest gripe with The Wildflower is the fact that in the women’s bathroom, there are only two stalls and barely enough room to swing a cat if you’re waiting. Hence why I’m leaning against the wall in the back hallway, with the bass of the music in the bar rumbling beneath my feet.
Chloe dragged me here tonight, telling me she needed a night out and that I had to come through for her. Apparently, Gracie is having her regular movie night with Reed; Autumn is, well, very pregnant; and Olivia is out of town for work.
Truth be told, when she called, I’d been thinking about how I need to take more time for myself, so I said yes. A chance to let my hair down sounded good, and maybe exactly what I needed to forget about what happened—or didn’t—with Wyatt on Monday.
I’ve had the best time so far. We’ve danced and laughed all night. It’s been… fun.
The light above the exit sign at the end of the hallway flickers, and the corner of my mouth kicks up.
I keep telling Titan to get it fixed, and while he’s at it to change out the dull overhead bulb for something a little brighter, but all he ever does is chuckle and then walk away.
He’s a big teddy bear really, but it’s his bar, and I’m not about to tell him how to run it.
If he wants to risk getting shut down and dealing with his angry patrons because Henry—the fire chief—finally does his job, then that’s on him.
As it is, I’ll just wait in the dimly lit corridor for the bathroom to free up.
I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes, the world tilting a little from the whiskey I’ve been drinking tonight.
Normally I’m a beer gal, but it’s been a long week, and it’s not over yet.
We have another wedding this weekend, and I’m still waiting to hear from Mr. Evergreen about his decision, so to say it’s been stressful around the ranch is an understatement.
“Did Maddie Hart get a night away from her tourists?”
I grind my back molars at the sound of Wyatt’s voice. Great. I thought I’d gotten lucky, and he wasn’t here. The Wildflower isn’t small, but it’s not big enough for me not to have noticed him in the building all night. He must have just arrived.
Turning toward him, I try to sink into the haze of alcohol before realizing that I’m not drunk enough for that. I’m only lightly buzzed and deeply regretting my choice to visit the bathroom right now. This is the last thing I want to deal with tonight.
Is he not feeling any kind of way about what happened on Monday? Am I the only one who has been plagued by the reminder of the tension that swirled between us?
“Wilde,” I greet, my tone terse and almost dismissive.
He clutches at the dark material of his T-shirt, like I’ve hurt him, before sinking into the wall beside me with a smirk on his face. “You wound me, Hart.” His voice drops, the vibration swirling something in my gut that I don’t want to put a name to. “Always so angry,” he murmurs.
When he reaches out to brush a strand of my hair from my face, I freeze.
My jaw goes slack, and I feel goosebumps rise on my exposed flesh as my nipples harden and press against the lace of my bra.
I can’t move, let alone breathe, and as much as I’d love to blame this on absolutely anything but him, there’s not a single reason I can find for why my body is reacting this way.
Sure, it’s been a while since I had sex, but I take care of myself often enough.
Fuck. Maybe that’s why I feel so tightly wound right now.
I need a man, and here is a man—it’s just human nature.
Nothing more. At least that’s what I try to tell myself as I fight a silent battle with my arousal.
The truth is, this has been happening far too often around Wyatt recently.
There’s a layer of intimacy surrounding us as Wyatt moves in closer.
He stands tall above me, his woodsy scent, mixed with the hoppy aroma of beer, wrapping around me.
It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room.
My gaze jumps from the striking blue of his assessing eyes, framed by long black lashes, to the fullness of his lips and the little scar on his Cupid’s bow.
I’ve never noticed that before. I almost reach out to touch it before I stop myself, fisting my hand by my side.
His voice is dangerously low, as if he’s afraid to scare me away when he says, “I’d say you need to let your hair down, but it already is, so maybe you just need to get that stick removed from your ass.”
It’s like having a bucket of cold water thrown over me. The moment shatters. I suck in a breath and swat at Wyatt’s arm as he chuckles and steps out of my reach. Damn whatever the hell that was and damn him for making me forget, even for a second, that he’s an asshole.
Frustrated at myself and the apparent spell he’d put me under yet again, I grit out, “You’re an asshat, did anyone ever tell you that?”
With a smug grin, he leans back against the wall, rolling his head to face me. “Only you, darlin’.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at me before continuing, “In fact, I’m starting to think you say all these mean things because you actually like me.”
I huff out a laugh, my top lip curling in disgust. “I thought I told you not to call me darlin’?”
“You did tell me that, but I like how it gets under your skin and pisses you off, so I’m choosing to ignore you.”
I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “Typical Wilde. Always doing whatever the hell he wants with no regard for anyone else and how they might feel.”
Wyatt steps closer, a look on his face that I can’t quite decipher, but I know it’s not good. I drop my arms to my side, some of my confidence slipping.
“I think you’ve got it twisted there, Hart,” he snarls, a fire flickering in his eyes.
Something about the sight of his anger sets me on edge and I push back my shoulders, jutting my chin out at him.
If he expects me to feel intimidated by him, then he’s got another thing coming.
I grew up with three brothers who were a lot stronger and tougher than me, so I learned how to stand up for myself from an early age.
Besides, this anger that I feel building inside of me is a hell of a lot easier to acknowledge than the lust from moments ago.
“No.” I move toward him, my face twisted into a scowl to match his own. There’s a matter of inches between us as we hold eye contact. “I think I’m right on the money with my observation, Wilde.”
We stare at each other in the dimly lit corridor, neither of us willing to back down from the silent war we’re waging. I’m so consumed by my frustration that I almost forget where I am.
The sound of a door opening and closing behind me barely registers, until suddenly I’m jolted forward, my hands coming up to rest on Wyatt’s warm, solid chest as his heat and scent wrap around me.
Instinctively, I’m sure, he lifts his hands to rest on my waist and keep me from fully falling into him. The heat of his touch is scorching. I’ll probably still feel it tomorrow and I hate that the thought sends a zap of something to my sex.
Wyatt’s calloused fingers flex on the exposed skin of my waist, as if he’s trying to hold himself back.
More like he’s disgusted. There’s no way he’s feeling anything but disgust at touching me. It’s been abundantly clear in all our interactions that whatever I feel whenever he’s near is down to my own lack of sexual activity.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t dare look up. He might see how being this close to him affects me, and I don’t think I could cope with giving Wyatt even more ammunition to use against me—and, boy, would he.
Instead, I keep my focus on the material of his black T-shirt—the same one that is sculpted to the hard planes of his chest—ignoring the way my breasts ache and zaps of energy spark in my gut with every squeeze of his hands on my waist.
When my body is finally under control, I look up at Wyatt from under my lashes, watching his Adam’s apple bob on his swallow. There’s an almost pained look on his face as I take in his features. Did I read him wrong? Is he feeling the same things I am?
There’s no way he’s turned on right now. Not Wyatt and certainly not because of me.
His blue eyes—stormy like the darkest depths of the ocean—meet mine, and he drops his arms before taking a noticeable step back. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he refocuses his attention on the wall behind me.
Sucking in a shallow breath, I will my body to calm down as I all but collapse against the cool wall. With the faint noise of the bar somewhere in the distance, the room feels almost charged and like it might implode if I so much as breathe wrong.
Clearing his throat, Wyatt grits out, “Well, as nice as this was, darlin’…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaving the quiet of the corridor hanging heavy in the air between us. I turn away from him, desperate for this moment to be over.
The amplified sound of the bar behind me as he opens the door signals his exit. It’s only when it falls back into the frame that my body relaxes a fraction, the skin at my waist haunted by the ghost of his touch and leaving me with a craving for more.
My night was going so much better before he showed up and made me feel things I have no business feeling for a man like him.
One who has too much hate in his heart for anything good to ever take up residence.
God, if this week wasn’t already bad enough, now I’m going to have to deal with what just happened.