“Good.” He smiles, appearing a little too pleased with himself. God, why does he always have to look so damn good? “Give me a few minutes to unload this firewood.”
I turn on my heel and march to my parked car so I won’t be tempted to ogle him while he works. Inside my vehicle, I crank the AC, but it does nothing to cool the heat beneath my skin. Sexual frustration bubbles to the surface as I wait to follow him back to his cabin—just like I did a year ago.Fuck.
What the hell did I agree to? This entire morning has me questioning my sanity, and my decision-making skills. How my body reacts in his presence means nothing. Jackson is off-limits. Staying with him means nothing. Now, if only I can get myself to believe that.
2
JACKSON
Maeve callingand begging me to drop off firewood at the cabin is a welcome interruption to my workday. It’s a warm morning, even for mid-July, and the ride from the barn to the cabin—windows down and music blaring—provides a nice reprieve from ranch work. This rental is one of the ways we earn money to offset the cost of my father’s long-term care. Most days, I feel so helpless when it comes to his condition. Doing something, even if it’s to fetch some firewood, gives me a momentary sense of control.
Rosalie Masters is the last person I expect to find outside the rental cabin.
Offering for her to live with me for a week is probably one of the craziest things I’ve done for a pretty woman. But as she follows me back to my place, I can’t deny the thrill that runs through my veins.
I mean, she’s right. This is probably a horrible idea, but I had to make the situation right. It was my mistake, after all. Still, I wouldn’t have offered my home to just anyone. This is Rosalie.
The woman who rocked my world and then proceeded to ignore me for the better part of a year.
Still. We can cohabitate without any issues.
Okay, yeah, this is a fucking disaster.
I shake my head. It’s not like she wants me, at least not anymore. Maybe it won’t be so bad. With as much as I work, we’ll hardly see each other.
For some reason, that realization floods me with more disappointment than it should.
The thing is, most women are so obvious. Both in their intentions, and their behaviors. I figured out at a young age, my last name, along with a flirty smile, can get me just about anything in this town. But Rosalie is a mystery. One that sparks constant intrigue and curiosity.
Maybe with her in my house, I’ll finally figure her out.
Like, why she never once called or reached out after the best sex of my life.
Or why, when we’re in the same room, she barely glances in my direction.
I kept my side of the deal. I haven’t told a soul. But there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when I don’t think about our night together. Or one I don’t wish she came knocking at my door for another round.
Apparently, I’m the only one who feels that way, and honestly, it kinda fucks with my head. Did she not have as much fun as I did? Did I disappoint her?Fuck. There’s no way she faked the orgasm I gave her. Or did she? Rosalie doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to pretend to get off to inflate a man’s ego.
So, why has she barely acknowledged my existence since our wild night?
Fuck.
Am I that undesirable? Or worse, an average lay?
I shake off my intrusive thoughts as I turn onto the long private driveway that leads to my cabin. I glance in the rearview mirror to make sure she’s still behind me. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but my mind recalls how they filled with tears back outside the rental.
I can’t stand to see a woman cry. Doesn’t matter if she’s angry,frustrated, or just plain sad. The minute her eyes gloss with tears, I want to make it better.
The urge to take away Rosalie’s pain when tears filled her eyes overcame all common sense.
I should’ve asked more questions. Or demanded she explain her situation. I’d love to know why she wants to hide in plain sight.
I pull up next to the front porch and park, hopping out of my cab and moving to open Rosalie’s door before she cuts the engine of her car.
Her expression is cool, unreadable and unimpressed as she gets out of her vehicle.
“Let me help you with your bags.”
