“It’s for Meatloaf.”
“Meatloaf?”
“My cat.”
“You have a cat?”
“He’s hiding,” she says, fishing out a pawprint patterned backpack from the depths of the same closet. “He doesn’t like people.”
Meatloaf chooses that moment to make his appearance, weaving between my legs. I crouch down and offer my hand to him. He eagerly pushes his furry head into the back of my hand, purring.
“What was that you were saying?”
“So, he doesn’t likemostpeople,” Kayleigh says, staring dumbfounded at her cat. “But we’re a package deal. You want to keep me prisoner on your ranch, I’m bringing Meatloaf with me.”
I rise back to standing. “I’m not keeping you prisoner?—”
“You could just make this whole thing easier and have your way with me right now.” Kayleigh approaches me, slipping her hand between the open flaps of my flannel coat and running her delicate fingers down my chest.
My entire body ignites with heat.
My dick lurches at her touch.
“Kayleigh,” I say, her name a warning. It doesn’t stop my traitorous gaze from landing on her chest. The red sweater only accentuates the curve of her breasts, making my mouth fucking water.
“That’s not going to work on me,” she says, flashing a sultry glance my way. “I’m not afraid of you like everyone else.”
“You should be.”
“Why?” She flattens her palm against my chest, sliding it south. I damn near go blind as her hand stops just above my belt. Another inch and she’d get a handful of hard cock. “Because you’ll tie me up and use a whip on me? I think we already established I’m down for that.”
“I’m not fucking you,” I say again, mostly to convince myself. “With or without restraints and a whip.”
“Why. Not?”
“Because, sweetheart.” I cup her cheek roughly, tilting her face up. “If I come inside that sweet, wet pussy of yours, you’llbelong to me. Not just for the terms of this contract, butalways.”
She gasps, her eyes widening with shock.
“Not get the rest of your shit together,” I say, pulling myself free from her touch despite how much it pains me. “I need to get back to the ranch.”
CHAPTER 5
KAYLEIGH
I can’t sleep.
Then again, I don’t understand how anyone can sleep in this giant depressing mansion Elliot calls a home. The only signs that this place is actually lived in are the boots by the kitchen door and flannel coat and Stetson hanging from a hook.
The house is too stale.
Too…clinical.
There’s not a single holiday decoration—not even a small Christmas tree.
The whole place is missing a woman’s touch.
Though I knew Adam’s mom left when he was just a baby, I never thought to ask if his dad had ever remarried.
