dreams.”
I watch in a daze as Hunter heads back to the truck. He starts the engine, then slowly reverses out of the drive, driving away until his headlights are swallowed up by the dark night.
My legs give way. I sink to the porch step.
You’re perfect.
He can’t mean it. I don’t know what kind of game he thinks he’s playing; or maybe it’s not a game, and he’s fooled himself into thinking I’m something I’m not. Either way, he’s wrong. I know it, deep inside, the way I’ve known it all my life.
There’s nothing perfect about me, nothing precious or rare.
He’s wrong. He has to be.
But as I sit, clutching the porch railing for dear life, something flickers inside me, just a spark of hope. I feel it, warming me, slipping into my bloodstream and chasing away the dark shadows of doubt and insecurity.
You’re perfect.
His words whisper in my ear, long after he’s gone, more seductive than any flirtation or dirty words. Nobody’s ever said that to me before. Not even close. Sure, I know that Emerson loves me, and would do anything for me, but it’s not the same. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way Hunter just did, as if I’m something bright and good. As if I’m worth something.
He sees it in me, what I sometimes can’t even see in myself. That man, who could have anything and anyone, wants me. For some crazy reason, he wants me, and he doesn’t show any signs of quitting yet.
And for the first time, I realize: maybe I don’t want him to.
After I take Brit home, I’m wound so tight I spend half an hour standing under the freezing cold shower jets, waiting for my hard-on to subside. It doesn’t help.
Jesus Christ.
It took everything I had not to ravage her right there in the stables, to just part her soft, pale thighs and plunge deep inside of her, over and over, until we both were gasping and lost to the world...
But I can’t. Not yet. No matter how much I want her, or how far she pushes me to the edge. I can’t let myself get carried away and ruin everything in one reckless night.
I owe her that much. I owe her everything.
The ranch is too quiet, dangerously still, so I head back down to the stables and set to work cleaning out stalls for the new horses I have arriving this week. It’s tiresome, back-breaking work, the kind of thing one of my stable hands should be doing, but tonight, I welcome the distraction. I lift, and shovel, and sweat, until the darkest part of the night is over, and my body finally aches with something other than wanting her. Only then do I let myself even think of earlier tonight, and the way Brit looked, so goddamn sexy and effortlessly beautiful...
She tasted like temptation. She felt like an angel. She was my darkest fantasy brought to life: wet and writhing and crying out for me to take her. And God, I wanted her. I thought I’d die, going a single second longer not inside of her.
So what the hell are you waiting for?
I catch my breath, sweating hard now from the work. Maybe it’s crazy. I don’t even understand it fully myself. But I know, deep down, that Brit isn’t ready for more.
Sure, she says she is. Hell, just a few hours ago, she was begging me: her pale skin flushed with desire, so wet against my mouth I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I could have taken her, hard and fast and strong, and she would have loved every damn minute of it.
But it would have been wrong.
She wants me, but she doesn’t want to let me in. I can give her pleasure, but I can’t give her trust. No, that I’ve got to earn, day by day, until she’s ready to let me into her bed—and her heart.
S he thinks you’re a good man.
I close my eyes, waiting for the memories, but it’s not Brit’s naked body that fills my mind. It’s her face: heartbreakingly beautiful, her dark eyes gazing into mine.
Damn. It’s more powerful than a hundred cold showers, the way she looks at me. Even when we touch, and my desire goes from zero to five thousand in
I watch in a daze as Hunter heads back to the truck. He starts the engine, then slowly reverses out of the drive, driving away until his headlights are swallowed up by the dark night.
My legs give way. I sink to the porch step.
You’re perfect.
He can’t mean it. I don’t know what kind of game he thinks he’s playing; or maybe it’s not a game, and he’s fooled himself into thinking I’m something I’m not. Either way, he’s wrong. I know it, deep inside, the way I’ve known it all my life.
There’s nothing perfect about me, nothing precious or rare.
He’s wrong. He has to be.
But as I sit, clutching the porch railing for dear life, something flickers inside me, just a spark of hope. I feel it, warming me, slipping into my bloodstream and chasing away the dark shadows of doubt and insecurity.
You’re perfect.
His words whisper in my ear, long after he’s gone, more seductive than any flirtation or dirty words. Nobody’s ever said that to me before. Not even close. Sure, I know that Emerson loves me, and would do anything for me, but it’s not the same. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way Hunter just did, as if I’m something bright and good. As if I’m worth something.
He sees it in me, what I sometimes can’t even see in myself. That man, who could have anything and anyone, wants me. For some crazy reason, he wants me, and he doesn’t show any signs of quitting yet.
And for the first time, I realize: maybe I don’t want him to.
After I take Brit home, I’m wound so tight I spend half an hour standing under the freezing cold shower jets, waiting for my hard-on to subside. It doesn’t help.
Jesus Christ.
It took everything I had not to ravage her right there in the stables, to just part her soft, pale thighs and plunge deep inside of her, over and over, until we both were gasping and lost to the world...
But I can’t. Not yet. No matter how much I want her, or how far she pushes me to the edge. I can’t let myself get carried away and ruin everything in one reckless night.
I owe her that much. I owe her everything.
The ranch is too quiet, dangerously still, so I head back down to the stables and set to work cleaning out stalls for the new horses I have arriving this week. It’s tiresome, back-breaking work, the kind of thing one of my stable hands should be doing, but tonight, I welcome the distraction. I lift, and shovel, and sweat, until the darkest part of the night is over, and my body finally aches with something other than wanting her. Only then do I let myself even think of earlier tonight, and the way Brit looked, so goddamn sexy and effortlessly beautiful...
She tasted like temptation. She felt like an angel. She was my darkest fantasy brought to life: wet and writhing and crying out for me to take her. And God, I wanted her. I thought I’d die, going a single second longer not inside of her.
So what the hell are you waiting for?
I catch my breath, sweating hard now from the work. Maybe it’s crazy. I don’t even understand it fully myself. But I know, deep down, that Brit isn’t ready for more.
Sure, she says she is. Hell, just a few hours ago, she was begging me: her pale skin flushed with desire, so wet against my mouth I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I could have taken her, hard and fast and strong, and she would have loved every damn minute of it.
But it would have been wrong.
She wants me, but she doesn’t want to let me in. I can give her pleasure, but I can’t give her trust. No, that I’ve got to earn, day by day, until she’s ready to let me into her bed—and her heart.
S he thinks you’re a good man.
I close my eyes, waiting for the memories, but it’s not Brit’s naked body that fills my mind. It’s her face: heartbreakingly beautiful, her dark eyes gazing into mine.
Damn. It’s more powerful than a hundred cold showers, the way she looks at me. Even when we touch, and my desire goes from zero to five thousand in
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