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And for a moment, I let myself imagine that she really likes this. Doting on me. Caring for me. Putting her hands on me. That it’s not just a job. That she isn’t just trying to prove herself in what I’m assuming is a brutally cutthroat industry.
Tired of knowing my body isn’t keeping up but pretending it’s fine. It’s nice not having to pretend in front of someone.
The worst part is, it doesn’t bother me enough to stop me from limping over to the bathroom and fucking my hand while thinking about her cherry lips the minute she shuts the door.
Though the pain did wake me up at one point in the night, and I got up to take more pills—which Summer had laid out in a row for me. Seeing them sitting out like that made my chest pinch in a completely new way.
I need at least three cups of coffee before I can deal with this adorable version of you.” “It’s alright. I like it when a woman knows what she wants and just asks for it.”
She doesn’t even ask; she just steps up between my legs and reaches for the bottom hem of my shirt before pulling it up. No fanfare, no oohing and aahing like some women have done in the past. Just straight to business. But I also don’t miss the way her eyes snag on my body as she lifts the shirt up and over my head.
You just called me adorable.” She clambers up behind me. “Save it for the buckle bunnies, Rhett.”
“So, you slept in a freezing cold room?” “Yeah. It was okay with my coat and blankets. I’ve survived worse.” I’m suddenly sitting up rigid, less focused on her hands than I am on the fact that after sleeping in a freezing room all night, she’s here taking care of me.
“Shut up and let me rub your back. It’s warming my hands.” And I let her, because when she puts it like that, it sounds an awful lot like she’s enjoying touching me.
Toward the end of our walk through the rows of vendors, she found a leatherworker that makes custom chaps and tried on a pre-made pair. They were charcoal leather with ivory highlights and ornate silver details. Her ass looked like an apple that I’d trade a limb to bite.
leaving me to catch up with her after I spent a few beats staring at her perfectly round ass. Again. And wishing she’d stuck around so I could ask her more about her past.
But it keeps wandering back to Summer. Her fingers brushing my hair away. Her breath on my neck. Her lips when she purses them in disapproval. Her ass in those goddamn jeans and chaps.
“She’s not a new piece,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intend as I tape my hands without bothering to glance up at him. He chuckles, like he knows he’s struck a chord I didn’t even know was there.
My shoulder is sore, really fucking sore, but not like it was before Summer got her hands on it. She didn’t even try to stop me from getting onto a bull tonight, something I appreciate more than she even realizes.
A muscle in my chest twists when my eyes linger on her, leaned forward in her seat, elbows propped on her knees, one hand on each cheek. She looks nervous. And not because she thinks I’ll get hurt. She looks like you do when your favorite hockey team is in a shootout for the win. She looks invested.
When she sees me laughing, she gives me a timid thumbs up, followed by a shy smile. And fuck, it feels good. Because that—right there—is not part of her job description.
Pretty sure the throbbing between my legs means I’m a buckle bunny now.
Which is right when a leather glove wraps around my elbow followed by a deep, raspy, “Hey.” Rhett doesn’t have to pull me hard. My body moves toward him like butter melts onto hot toast. I turn my back on the other guy and look up at Rhett’s stubbled, rugged face. Fuck. He really is hot. I’ve been trying so hard not to admit that to myself. But every now and then, just a glimpse of him hits me in the gut.
“You rode the fuck outta that bull.” Rhett’s head tips back as a deep, whole-hearted laugh overtakes him. His Adam’s apple bobs, and his fingers give my elbow a familiar squeeze.
He holds his hands up and slides them out straight, like he’s imagining a newspaper headline. “Old as balls but can still ride the fuck out of a bull.”
“How do you know?” “Because I’ve glued myself to you for days on end now, and you haven’t done a single thing to make me think you are. You’ve been a perfect gentleman.” We stare at each other now, and my lips twitch. “A grumpy, stubborn gentleman.”
“Why? You worried you won’t be able to resist me?” My jaw drops. “Rude. And no. I’m more worried I might accidentally hold a pillow over your smug, pretty face until you stop breathing. I have a sweatsuit. I’ll dress warm. I’ll be fine.”
When he gets to the door, he waves a hand over his shoulder and pushes out into the hallway. “Keep up, Princess. Kill me, don’t kill me. At least you’ll be warm. You’re with me tonight.”
Letting my eyes trail over Rhett Eaton is like spending time at an amusement park. Each part is better than the last. When he turns to face me with takeout boxes in his large hands, my mind flashes to how they might feel on my bare skin. Big, warm, and calloused.
I peer down and see the last wing. “You should have it,” I try to argue. “No chance.” Rhett licks his lips as he stares at the screen, and I can’t look away. “You need your energy to put up with me. Have it.” I swear that one little drumstick is staring back at me. Daring me to make this mean more than it does. But giving me the last piece is just so . . . sweet. I almost can’t reconcile it. I almost want to ask myself what it means.
After a few beats, when my eyes go back to Rhett, he’s not looking me in the eye anymore. He’s looking at my mouth. No. He’s staring at my mouth.
My lips pop open, ever so slightly at the thought of him closing the distance, gripping my head, and pressing his lips to mine. Giving me a taste of what I’ve fantasized about.
When the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath my lower lip, it’s feather light. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end and my eyes flutter shut. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate. His thumb caresses over my top lip, a strangled groan catching in the back of his throat. My breathing becomes more labored, and when I catch sight of the expression on his face, I’m panting.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he rasps. I already am. Uncomfortably horny. But I don’t say that.
“I mean, you told me you were going to kill me in my sleep. I have some sense of self-preservation, you know.” “You ride angry bulls for a living. I’m really not so sure about that.”
“The only thing you should be sorry for is not telling me you were an ice cube. I should have knocked on your door earlier,” he grumps, right as his long legs stretch across the bed and he tangles them with mine, capturing my frozen feet between his calves.
I fall asleep like that, lulled by the gentle steady sounds of him, by the solid comfort of him. My hand held tight in his, my feet cradled against his skin, and my heart warm wrapped up in his words.
Because I’ve been awake for the better part of an hour, letting her cuddle me. Staring at her, trying to memorize every little freckle. Watching her sleep like a lovesick Ted Bundy or something.
I woke up when I felt her nuzzle against my bicep, and when I slowly opened my eyes, I was as close to her mouth as I had been the night before. When I’d done everything I could to not lick that hot sauce off her lips like a goddamn savage.
Her small palm presses against the center of my chest, while her cheek rests against my arm. She’s even still clutching my hand. Something that makes an ache throb in my chest.
I want to do distinctly ungentlemanly things to Summer Hamilton. But I also want her to warm her cold feet up on me again. Anytime she wants. The thought of her being cold and uncomfortable infuriates me. I want to take care of her, even though she doesn’t need taking care of.
My cock surges, and I don’t think I can blame my current erection on morning time physiology anymore. It’s just a straight boner because I want to bang my agent’s daughter. And then snuggle her. Trace her freckles.
But when I silently fuck my palm in the shower minutes later, I’m not all that sure I’ve succeeded. Especially since it’s her name on my lips when I spill myself on the base of the porcelain tub.
Instead, it sounds like my big brother is hitting on her, and I want to scoop her up and hide her away. Because Beau is everything I’m not. Heroic, organized, dependable, clean-cut.
My eyes drop to her ass in her skin-tight workout pants. She might be short, but fuck me, the girl has curves in all the right places. Firm muscles. She reminds me of a gymnast in spandex.
Though I have to confess, this routine Summer has me on isn’t terrible. I feel better every day. My biggest complaint is that I’m getting professional massages rather than ones from her.
“And of course, I know who you are. Summer had your Wranglers ad plastered on her bedroom wall for years.”
Am I going to harass Summer about this later? Absolutely. I love to spar with her. It might as well be foreplay for how well she holds her own.
“Are you hiding because your sister is a grade A bitch or because I now know that I’m your teenaged spank bank fodder?” I’m pretty sure I hear her mumble a choked, “Oh, my God.” When she peeks out at me from between her fingers, I waggle my eyebrows. And when her only response is to groan and tip her head back against the vinyl chair back, I laugh. “Can we please pretend that never happened?” Her palms muffle her voice. I grin and shake my head, crossing my arms, irrationally pleased with the whole thing. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Princess.”
All the hard work I did in the waiting room to compose myself while Rhett had his scan went right down the toilet the minute he came striding back out with a knowing grin on his face. Cocky motherfucker.
“Did you. . .” He trails off, scrubbing at his beard. “Kiss the page you ripped out of a magazine?” I scoff. “I didn’t rip it out. I cut it out very carefully. And now I’m looking forward to throwing darts at it.”
Like, apparently, he saw a clip on TV of me giving you the thumbs up in Pine Lake and that was enough for him to start sniffing around.” Rhett’s head drops down closer, erasing whatever little respectable space there was left between us. His eyes are trained on mine. Staring at me in that way he always does. With unmatched intensity. “That event wasn’t televised. Which means he’s going out of his way to figure out what you’re doing and probably searching the events on YouTube for footage.”
“Rather than kissing your magazine pages, you can try out the real thing.” “You’re an idiot,” I mumble, but I also don’t move away.
Rhett’s thigh presses against mine while the hand on my lower back slides down to the waistline of my jeans, his fingers tightening in a way that has the spot just behind my hip bones aching.
“You know, Princess,” he rasps, and I should hate that goddamn nickname, borne of mocking me for being who I am, but suddenly it feels like a shot straight to my core. Like praise. Like worship. “I’m finding I don’t really care what people think where you’re concerned.”
