I pushed a hand through my hair, tearing at the bound strands and disrupting the braid. He didn’t know if he was that guy or not. He’d said he quit dating. “No, but you don’t want to be the bad guy. You’ll be nice about when you want to be done with me, but the ending will be the same.”
His jaw hardened and he looked away, his dark eyes tortured.
“It’s like you said.” I shouldn’t say this much, but I was as transparent as a rainbow to him. “I pretend not to care, but I do. And that’s how people hurt me.”
A play of emotions I couldn’t identify ran through his expression. He sat forward, wincing. If he was still hard, that was some ridge to hunch over. He pressed down on the fly of his jeans.
More heat spread through my body. No more thinking about his size or girth.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” he said.
No. I didn’t want to leave this house with its enviable kitchen and cozy bedroom and warm water. I didn’t want to leave the feeling of being surrounded by nature and solitude. “You can just give me a ride to town. You’re clearly tired and need a day off.”
He didn’t say anything, and I started to squirm under his direct stare. Could he see that my nipples were still hard? They would be every time I thought about that kiss.
“Or,” he said slowly, “you could stay here and we could go over some plans and the budget.”
I was rebuilding that wall he’d destroyed, only to have it crumble again. I had just told him that he could really hurt me and he was still trying to do the work I’d bought him for? “You don’t have to keep doing this.”
“I’m going to see it through.” He rose. I didn’t move away, but I had to tip my head back to meet his determined gaze. “If only to show you that I can commit to something.” He sidestepped around me. “I’ve gotta check on the burritos.”
“They’re cooling on the counter,” I said numbly. He committed to work more than anything in his life. It was women he couldn’t commit to, and nothing in his declaration had included me.
CHAPTER NINE
Teller
I punched numbers in my calculator. I’d taken my research, brochures, and estimates from my office and spread everything on the table. It might not be the wildest day, but Madison hadn’t demanded I drive her to town, and I got to sit close enough I could smell my shampoo on her.
Madison stared at the data, eyes wide, sometimes unseeing, like she was getting lost in her head about the magnitude of what was left. Meanwhile, I was lost in the kiss. How pliant she’d been. Responsive. How good she’d felt in my arms.
“I don’t...” She shuffled through some estimates of windows I’d gotten online. “I don’t have this much money.”
“You paid too much for me.” She likely hadn’t thought the bid would go that high, but it had. I couldn’t let her down. I also had to talk to her, lay it all out, and let her make the decisions. Too many of her options had been taken away, and I wouldn’t be that guy.
She wanted me to quit kissing her, I would, hating every moment my lips weren’t touching hers. She wanted me to quit helping her? Nope. As soon as she had waved that paddle for the final time, she was stuck with me.
“If Tate gives me a hand, we can install the windows.” I pored over the very rough estimate sheet I’d made.
“He can’t keep helping you.”
“He’d be happy to. We can also install the toilets. If we get into old plumbing, and the project turns bigger than we ever thought, then we’ll worry about it then. Otherwise, I can install toilets. Same with the sinks. New stall dividers are easy enough to erect.”
Her expression grew more and more fraught with each task I was willing to take on. “That’s backbreaking work. You can’t keep doing all this.” She pressed her hands against her face, covering those lips I had gotten to taste. “I should sell.”
“And what? Have Sal screw you over on this too?”
“He’s not screwing me over.” At my dubious look, her brows pinched together. “Normally, I’d agree, but how could he?”
Good. She was letting me in, asking for my advice. I could puff my damn chest out. “What did you get for an offer? Or better yet, how well does Sal know the buyer?”
She blew out a disbelieving breath. “It’s not like that.” Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. “He found a buyer for a busted-down house and land that hasn’t been cared for in decades.”
“It’s Montana. You’ve got property a short drive away from Bozeman. That land will sell and there are buyers who won’t care about an old home because they have plans to build a two-million-dollar house. I’m just saying it’s not too late to start asking questions.”
She neatly stacked the papers with the estimates on them. “By the time the sale goes through, it might be. I need the money.”
He was likely preying on her desperation, and I wanted to deck him. “You could get a lot more.” I flipped through my little ringed notebook to a page I hadn’t shown her yet, hoping this wouldn’t slam her guards up against me. “I asked an old friend of my dad’s who used to work in real estate what she thought your property could reasonably sell for.”
