And three alarms? At least she knows she struggles with time and tries to adjust for it. Though it doesn’t always work.
My phone vibrates. As if I’ve summoned her straight off her knees in my dream, she texts me.
Campbell: Stanford and January are here FYI
Not the best news, but everything’s beginning. I set the phone down. My erection is still determined to stick around.
I sit up, wincing at the way my boxer briefs throttle my cock. Rubbing at my eyes, I slide out of bed and trudge to the shower, bringing my phone with me.
Time for a stern talk with myself. Dreams aren’t real. They don’t reveal hidden obsessions. I’ve been fielding texts and reminders to download some planning app from Campbell. That’s why she appeared in my dream—with those ripe, full lips and that long, satiny hair.
I turn on my country playlist and start the shower. My erection’s barely flagging, and I need that damn thing gone before I meet Campbell to go over the layout. She offered to tell me over the phone or email a diagram, but my dumb ass said I’d meet with her instead.
I wash myself, ignoring my insistent erection until I’m clean. Then I sigh and grip the base, squeezing just how I like it.
Pleasure courses through me, and images flash through my head. Tits. A round ass. Chestnut hair with blond highlights that is so damn soft...
Hell no. I can’t think about Campbell. She’s my brother’s annoying sister-in-law. She’s too young for me.
She’s no longer the “barely out of college” girl I first met.
By now, blood’s hammering in my dick, and I’m pumping faster, re-creating the weight of Campbell’s body in my arms, how her ass wiggles right in my face, and the graze of her breasts against my shoulders. Arousal pumps hot through my veins, and I forget that I should get some soap or lotion to stroke myself with. The shower-fresh smell of her on my sweatshirt rises nice and crystal fucking clear in my head.
I come on a long moan, hot spurts hitting the wall and the floor of the shower. I catch my breath and sag against the shower wall. What the hell? I never get myself off that fast.
Dammit, now I have a mess to clean up and images I have to forever push out of my head when I’m around Campbell Hawthorne.
There’s no way that sexy-as-hell image is leaving. It’s burned into every neuron in my brain, and it’s from myimagination. Shit.
After I dry off and get dressed, I heat a breakfast sandwich and eat it on the drive to the Hawthorne Ranch. When I pull into the parking lot, guests mill around the grounds and chill on the front porch. How many are Baldwins?
I don’t like them on principle.
Inside the lodge, I spot the happy couple cuddling on the couch. Stanford’s running his hands through January’s hair—hair that’s even closer to Campbell’s shade of highlighted brown than before.
Why does January look like the queen of the rodeo ring with her studded blue jeans, pristine cowboy boots, and a plain tee tight enough to be a second skin? It’s like the easycountry style Campbell wore for the meeting last week—minus the easy. Stanford has black slacks and a light-pink dress shirt on. They look like a poster for opposites attract.
They don’t deem me worth a glance as I stride past them toward the meeting room, and after the morning I’ve had, that’s just fine.
I enter to find Campbell with her face buried in her hands. All this has got to be affecting her sleep. Clearing my throat, I take a seat.
She jerks back. “Oh. Sorry. I should’ve known you’d be early.”
“If you’re on time, you’re late.” It’s a cliché, but one that Darin Bailey drilled into us during our time fostering with him.
“I never understood that.” She sits back, her complexion wan, and picks at the sleeves of her loose blouse. “I mean, if I’m on time, I’m on time. Before that, it’s my time, and I don’t need to give that up for someone.”
Good point. “So argues the youth.”
She blinks at me. Blinks again. “How old and wizened are you?”
“Forty.”
She licks her tongue across her bottom lip. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“See? Youth.”
She reclines in her seat and lets her gaze travel over me. If she keeps it up, she’s going to find a very prominent bulge behind my fly. I’m not immune to a beautiful woman’s attention, and Campbell is another level of sexy altogether. “Well, you look good for your age. I would’ve guessed thirty-nine and a half at the most.”
