Chapter Six
Harlow
I'm up to my elbows in paint, literally, in my makeshift studio on my back porch when my front doorbell rings at a little after two in the afternoon.
I pause with my brush poised above the canvas, and consider ignoring it.
I'm not expecting anyone, and I really don't want to deal with salespeople or Jehovah's Witnesses today.
I want to finish my painting. I'm almost done.
And then I grumble and set my brush on the side of my palette before wiping my hands off on my smock before pulling it off over my head. I duck back through the door into the kitchen, wiping sweat from my brow.
"Just a minute!" I shout when the bell rings again before I even cross the small kitchen, my feet silent on the worn linoleum.
I don't bother checking the peephole before I unlock the door.
This is Silver Spoon Falls, and I have nothing worth stealing.
But as soon as I yank the door open to see Wade standing on my porch in dark jeans and a blue flannel button-down, a white Stetson perched on his head, I instantly regret my decision.
He looks like sex on legs. I look precisely like I've spent all day playing with paint. We are not the same. Not even close.
He glances at me from beneath the brim of his hat, his brown eyes running down my body, taking in every splatter of paint, every bead of sweat, every wild, unkempt curl, every hole in my shirt, and my bare feet.
His lips curve into a wicked grin. "Damn, baby," he drawls.
"Just when I think I've seen my favorite side of you, you go proving me wrong. "
I cross my arms, trying to hide the fact that I'm most definitely not wearing a bra. On my day off? Could never be me. "What are you doing here?" Actually, that's not even the most pressing question at the moment. "And how do you even know where I live?"
"This is Silver Spoon Falls, beautiful. Everyone knows everything about everyone else's business." He leans up against the rickety porch railing, still grinning like he wants to have me for dinner. "It took me all of two seconds to find out where you live."
"Well…that's not great news."
His brows furrow with confusion.
"I work at a bar, Wade. If you can find me that fast, so can anyone else," I grumble, not liking that thought.
Apparently, he doesn't either, because his expression instantly turns arctic. "No one who wants to live will be darkening your doorstep, Harlow. I can promise you that much."
I open my mouth to respond, but I have no idea what to even say to that. So I just shake my head instead. "What are you doing here?"
"I need you to come with me."
I gape at him for a full five count. "Are you kidding me right now? You showed up at my doorstep for a date I told you I didn't want to go on?"
"Yes." He grins like a proud little boy. "And before you say no or kick my ass for it, there's a reason."
"Wanting to sleep with me isn't a reason, Wade Jessup."
"You think that's why I'm here, Harlow?" he asks, far too serious.
"I…" Do I really think that? I don't know.
I think, as beautiful as he is, he could sleep with damn near anyone with a whole lot less effort than he's put into…
whatever he's been doing with me for the last week.
But does he want to sleep with me? Yeah, he does.
It's written all over his face every time he looks at me like he wants to eat me alive.
He pushes away from the railing, the old boards creaking beneath his feet as he prowls toward me, moving like a panther. Part of my brain screams that I should back up or close the door in his face. The other part demands that I stand my ground and see just how far he's willing to go here.
I'm not entirely surprised when he hooks an arm around my waist, hauling me up against his chest. I feel the hard bulge of his erection nestle against my belly, feel the heat of his big body searing into me. Good God, the man is hard everywhere.
My core temperature skyrockets, my entire body clenching. I plant my hands against his shoulders, though I'm not sure if I mean to push him off or keep him right here.
I don't really get a chance to find out before his mouth is on my neck, his stubble scraping my skin in a way that has me ready to crawl out of my skin just to taste him. Just to feel him above me, moving like magic.
"Wade," I say…moan, really.
His lips trail toward my ear, his teeth raking the tendon in the side of my neck.
"As much as I'd love you naked beneath me, baby, I'm a patient motherfucker," he rasps against the shell of my ear.
"Doesn't matter how hard you've had my cock all week.
Doesn't matter how many times I've jerked it raw, moaning your name.
I'm not rushing you." His hand curves around my jaw, tilting my head back.
"Do I want to sleep with you?" His eyes meet mine. "More than I want to breathe."
I whimper. At least, I think that's what you call the pathetic, needy sound that escapes my lips. It's soft and loud at the same time, like it escaped my damn soul.
"But that's not why I'm here now, and it's not why I've been at the bar for the last week, either."
I lick my lips, staring at him. "Then why?"
His expression softens, his rough fingers feathering along my cheek. "You know exactly why, beautiful."
The worst part of that statement isn't that I don't know.
It's that I do. I feel it in my soul, growing like the ivy that used to overtake our front porch every summer.
Didn't matter how often we cut it back or tried to poison it, the stuff just kept growing until it'd claimed every inch of space it could find.
He's going to do the same thing—claim every inch of space he can, claim pieces of me I didn't even know existed. It's what he wants. I think it's what he's wanted from the very beginning.
"Wade, I…"
His lips come down on mine in a hard kiss, silencing me.
"You can freak out about it and try to convince yourself that it can't happen later, Harlow.
But it is going to happen," he growls. "I'm not going anywhere.
" His tongue flicks my bottom lip, a soft groan rumbling in his chest. "So you're going to have to get used to that idea for me. "
"I thought cowboys took orders, not gave them," I grumble, scowling at him…mostly because if I don't, I'm going to wrap my hands all up in his shirt and drag his mouth back to mine.
His whole body vibrates with laughter. "This cowboy does both, baby." He nips my bottom lip, then groans again. "I want to kiss you so fuckingly bad right now."
"M-maybe you should."
Heat and triumph flare in his eyes in equal measure before his hand slips to the back of my head, cradling it. His lips touch mine again, his kiss soft. "Open for me, beautiful. Let me have a taste," he breathes.
I obey instantly, instinctively, because I think I might actually combust if I don't.
His breath—mint and a hint of coffee—washes across my face, and then he's kissing me. Really kissing me. I'm not sure if my feet actually leave the ground or if it just feels like they do, but I sink into him, my heart thudding erratically.
He groans against my lips, his tongue stroking mine until I'm dizzy with the taste of him, the feel of him, the heat of his body against mine. God. I never knew kissing could feel like this or that I could be wanted like this.
"Wade," I whisper.
He breaks the kiss with a groan, resting his forehead against mine. His breath is unsteady, his body trembling faintly. "Harlow. Sweet, sweet Harlow," he whispers. "I can't wait until you're ready for me, beautiful." His lips brush my crown. "But I'll be patient for you. Swear, I will."
He's wrecking me a little bit, without even meaning to do it.
Maybe that's why I decide to stop fighting whatever this is.
To stop thinking I don't deserve it, that he's out of my league, that I'm too much of a mess to be prepared for a man like him.
I don't know exactly why all the tension, worry, and anxiety melt away… but they do.
I surrender to whatever this is, to wherever we're headed.
"Don't you dare break my heart," I say, my voice a scrap of sound.
He dips his head, his brown eyes somber when they meet mine. "Wouldn't dream of it, baby."
I nod, certain he means it. And then I slowly untangle myself from his arms, smiling a little when I see the smudge of paint on his cheek. There's another smeared across his shirt. "Um…you've got paint all over you."
He glances down at himself and then shrugs like it's no big deal. "I'll survive. You going to come with me willingly, or am I kidnapping you for the rest of the day?"
I hesitate, glancing down at myself. "Can I finish my painting first?"
"How long do you need?"
"Ten, fifteen minutes?" I bite my lips. "Well, then I need to shower and change, so an hour?"
He just grins at me, shaking his head. "Take all the time you need, beautiful. I'll wait for you."
When I emerge from the shower, I find him on the back porch, standing in front of my painting, studying it intently.
I hover behind him, a little nervous. Every artist cares what people think, at least a little bit.
But I think I care what he thinks more than usual.
Especially since the painting is of him.
"Why this moment?" he asks, as if he knows I'm there.
"Um…" I step up beside him, not entirely sure I know how to answer that question. "I guess because I liked the dichotomy," I say after a moment. "You sprawled there like you don't have a care in the world while Danny's all pissed off. It says a lot about who each of you are, I think."
"Yeah?" He glances back at me. "And what does it say?"
"Just that he's not a good guy, but the same probably isn't true about you." I shrug. "You weren't mad about being soaked with water. You knew you deserved it and were able to laugh about it. He was pissed because he's the kind of guy who thinks everything is someone else's fault."
Wade's lips curve into a grin. "You've got him nailed dead to rights, Harlow. Palmer never has known how to take responsibility."
"Didn't think so." I smooth my hands down my sides. "I'm ready to go."
He turns fully to face me, his gaze drifting down my body. I don't really own anything fancy, but I put on my best skirt and a pretty green blouse. I think I chose well, because he's looking at me like he wants to eat me again.
"You look stunning," he murmurs after a moment, reaching for my hand.
I hesitate and then slip mine into his, allowing him to link our fingers together.
"You got a sketchbook?" he asks.
"Yes…"
"Grab it. You'll need it."
I shoot him a questioning look, but he just smirks at me, clearly not willing to tell me anything. I grumble wordlessly, not sure I like surprises, but I hurry across the porch to grab it. He takes it, tucking it under his arm before leading me through the house and out to his truck.
My entire body quivers when he wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me inside like it's easy.
I guess for him, it probably is. He wrangles cattle and probably wrestles wild animals for fun.
I've been a big girl my entire life, but my weight is probably nothing when you boss around fully grown bulls for a living.
We drive in silence until we're out of my neighborhood, heading toward downtown. And then he glances over at me. "You nervous?"
"A little." I fidget with my sketchbook. "It's been a while since I went out with anyone."
He reaches across the console, lacing our fingers together. "For me, too."
"Really?" I eye him sideways.
"Told you that I don't fuck around, beautiful."
"There's a difference between dating and fucking, Wade."
"Agreed, but I don't waste time on shit that isn't going anywhere, and I don't jump into bed with just anyone," he says with a shrug. He looks over at me, lifting my fingers to his lips. "You and I are going somewhere."
My stomach clenches, a frisson of heat working its way through me. "Yes, we are," I agree. "You're driving there right now."
His lips curve with amusement. "Smartass."
"Thanks."
He chuckles, placing our linked hands on top of the console as we stop at a red light at Broadway.
"Um, where are we going?" I ask.
"You'll see in a minute."
I grumble wordlessly.
"Not big on surprises, huh?"
"Nope."
"Too bad," he says, flipping on the blinker. "You'll just have to suffer for another sixty seconds. We're almost there."
I don't really mind, but I grumble again, just because I like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when I do it. But true to his word, he slows the truck in front of a row of shops not even sixty seconds later.
I gape in shock when he pulls into the parking lot of an art gallery with sculptures on either side of the door and a mural of the town painted across the front wall. "I know this place," I whisper, my heart pounding with excitement. The name has changed, but it's the same building.
"Oh, yeah?"
"My mom had a show here when I was a kid. They turned the whole place into a jungle to display her sculptures," I murmur, my heart twinging at the memory. "I loved lying in the fake grass, staring up at the stars they painted on the ceiling."
"How old were you?"
"Seven or eight? It was before…"
He squeezes my hand when I trail off, then kills the engine. "You miss her, don't you?"
"Every damn day," I say, swallowing hard.
"It was always the two of us against the world.
Even after she got sick. I mean, at least until…
" I swallow again. "Eventually, it got so bad that she couldn't really speak or move much anymore, but until then, we made the most of it, you know?
I took care of her, but I never really felt like I was missing anything. "
Wade cups my cheek, brushing his thumb against my skin. "I'm so damn sorry you lost her, baby."
"Me, too. Is…is that why you brought me here?"
"Partly. That sketchbook is the other part."
My brows furrow.
"The new owner, Eve, wants to meet you," he murmurs. "I showed her the drawing you did for me."
"What?"
"You're an artist, Harlow, not a bartender. Art is what you should be doing. Eve can help." He pauses. "If you're willing to meet her. The choice is yours."
I stare at him, shocked. "She wants to meet me?"
"Desperately," he confirms.
I take a deep breath, certain he can feel the way my hand trembles beneath his. An actual gallery owner wants to meet me. It's been…too damn long since that last happened.
"Let's do it," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Good girl," he breathes, grinning at me.