Her face falls, and I immediately regret it. “That’s not how I meant it,” I add quickly.
“You know, I’m not writing about you and your trust issues with reporters,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “And I’m not writing anything about that ridiculous scandal that gave those issues to you.”
“No?”
“No.” She shakes her pretty head. “I’m getting the real story,” she says. “The comeback of Rock Creek Ranch, and how you’re building something important here.”
I close the distance between us, and duck through the rails to her. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” She doesn’t resist when I pull her close.
“How’s that?”
“Because you make me want to believe you.”
Kali
The kitchen smells like garlic, onions and…smoke.
Well, mostly smoke.
Because the garlic and onions are burnt beyond recognition. Again.
Apparently, helping with dinner is not my strong suit.
But Wyatt and Anna have been so generous with hosting me and feeding me for the last ten days, I wanted to do something nice for them. When Anna mentioned she had a full day of veterinary appointments, I jumped at the chance to have dinner ready for them.
Although at this rate, I wasn’t going to be able to offer much more than toast.
Anna always made it look so easy, but I’d never been much of a cook. Growing up and living in the city where it was easier to grab take-out and keep working, I’d never had much of a reason to learn.
I take a quick peek in the freezer and find a couple of frozen pizzas that are starting to look less like the backup plan and more like the actual plan, when my phone buzzes on the counter.
Brooke:
Get the real story yet?
My stomach tightens. I know exactly what she’s asking. She’s been sending me encouraging texts about how to get Cash to start thinking with his dick so he’ll open up and give me the dirt that Brooke is convinced is waiting to be found.
Before I can send back a response, another bubble appears.
Don’t underestimate the power of the pussy.
My cheeks flush as I stare at the message. She makes it sound so simple. So cold and transactional. She’d lose her mind if she knew that I actually was sleeping with Cash. Especially if I told her it had nothing to do with the story or trying to get the dirt.
She also wouldn’t believe me.
But she doesn’t know Cash.
She doesn’t know what it’s like when he looks at me like I’m the only one in the room, or how safe I feel when he touches the small of my back, or helps me up on the horse.
This thing between us. It isn’t a strategy. It’s not a technique. It’s the first thing in my life that’s felt real and authentic. And I don’t want it to end.
I set the phone face down on the counter without responding. I flick the burner off and toss the burnt pan into the sink to keep me from causing any more damage, before pressing my hands flat on the countertop and inhaling as deeply as I can.
I work to breathe through the knots in my chest, but it doesn’t work to dissolve them. The guilt is still there.
Technically, Brooke’s not wrong. I’m here to get a story. I’m a journalist assigned to a job. That should be it.
Yet, every time he touches me, every time we’re alone together, I somehow forget there’s supposed to be an ending to this at all.
