I'm awed by the sight before me, and without thinking, I lean back to encompass the whole view, but my head presses against his chest.
The horse neighs, and I startle, but he holds me tighter, his fingers now fully on my bare skin, under my cropped sweater. His hand is so big that his thumb bumps against the underside of my breast.
I stare ahead, surrounded by beauty, transfixed by the man holding me. I can't breathe. I need to move. I do, and I hear his soft growl as his hand presses me closer and moves a little up, brushing my breast. His cock hardens. I'm struggling to take in air when, as if the sun had grown tired of a slow and spectacular rise, it bursts into the sky, consuming the wisps of twilight where reality doesn't exist.
The sudden brightness changes everything, and suddenly he's released his hold on me a little, then steers the horse back in the direction of my house.
Well...
As soon as I'm in front of my door, he dismounts, lifts me off the horse and onto my feet, says a gruff good day, gets back on the horse, collects the other one he tethered to a tree, and is off.
Once I'm alone, I sprint inside and shut the door behind me. I take off my clothes right there in the foyer to inspect my underwear. My panties are soaked through. A minute more and my jeans would have been damp as well.
Oh boy.
The rest of my day passes in a blur. I spend nearly every hour after my morning trot with the sheriff cleaning the room I'm going to turn into a library/study.
But my thoughts remain fixed on him. Then I get so annoyed. He could have kissed me. I would have let him. But he didn't. He hightailed out of the moment so fast my head is still spinning. It's obvious he really doesn't like me, and I could have just imagined everything—a stupid teenage girl fantasy. Yuck. What is wrong with me? Imagine if I turned around and asked him to kiss me. He'd have chucked me off the horse with an 'eww,' and I'd have to walk home.
The sheriff thinks I'm a nuisance. An airhead city girl. He can have his pick of women. I don't make that list.
Having worked myself into a fury, which turned out to be good for the walls in the house, I eat the lasagna that Violet brought me and head to the shower, then bed. What a weird day. I hope I never see the sheriff again.
Except I'm still awake at one in the morning. I just can't sleep, so I decide to try out the new bathtub with the bath bombs I bought from Shelley's Pharmacy. Shelley makes them herself, and they smell heavenly. The hot water lulls me; the aromas soothe my senses. A cup of herbal tea, and I'm going to have the best sleep ever.
I wrap my damp, glossy body—with its soft, nourished skin thanks to the bath bombs—in a bath sheet, slip on a pair of slippers, but as I'm about to head out of my bedroom to the kitchen, I scream so loudly I think I pierced a lung.
That damn rodent otter thing, Benjamin Freaking Lawrence, is in my bed, nestled where I sleep, its head on my pillow.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I stand there, death-staring the thing, so mad I can't breathe. That's my only other set of Egyptian cotton thread bedding the bugger has now ruined as well. Argh. I'm going to kill it. No, I can't. This time, the judge will throw away the keys, and I won't see the light of day.
Fine.
Not taking my eyes off it, in case it decides to leap up and bite me, I grab my car keys and sprint out of the house, looking behind me to ensure the thing isn't chasing me.
I hate this town and its stupid otter.
Still, it's a small town, and it doesn't take me long to get where I'm going.
I pound on the door with all my might, uncaring if I rouse anyone else in the process.
"What the hell, woman? It's two o'clock in the morning," Sheriff Zephyr Smith says, fully alert, answering the door in his boxer briefs and nothing else.
If I weren't so mad, I would have taken the time to count the blocks of concrete on his abdomen he calls abs.
Chapter Twelve
Marlowe
I rip into him immediately.
"You're tellingmeit's two o'clock in the morning?" I shriek, pushing my way into his house.
"Imagine how I feel. I couldn't sleep, so I thought maybe a hot, relaxing bath with Shelley's bath bombs would do the trick, followed by a nice cup of tea and some light reading of the manual that came with the dishwasher. I run my bath and add the bath bombs and a little lavender essence too. I've created a sleeping oasis right there in the bathroom.
"So I take a bath; it's perfect. I'm lulled, contemplating skipping the tea and the manual to go straight to bed. And what do I find in my bed? Your stupid, beloved national treasure. Oh yes, Benjamin Freaking Lawrence.
