Maybe he was losing his touch with women. It had been a while since he had even attempted to charm a woman. In truth, he rarely had to exert any effort. In the past, they always came to him. His family was known in the area and was prominent in the ranching society. People liked him. Marshall never made waves or sought out confrontation; he was just an easygoing guy.
Something about Colette made him…frustrated, in more ways than one. Especially now that he had seen her cherry pajamas. Marshall tilted his head back and stared at the moon, wondering if it would give him the peace he sought. Sure, he had problems before she arrived, but somehow, it felt like they had increased tenfold. The minute she had walked onto the property in her prim collar and skirt. He snorted. She was clueless as to how she was supposed to dress on a ranch. How could Grandpa send him someone so ill-prepared for life out here? He hated being the bad guy, coaching her on what was expected of her at the ranch. At one time, he had been like Colette. Inexperienced when it came to living a rural existence. There had been so many things he needed to learn. She was lucky he was here to give her all the information she needed to adapt.
Marshall pulled off his hat and scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. There was nothing he could do about it. He ambled up to the main house, the front porch lit up to welcome him.
Waking at the sound of his footsteps, Hank poked his nose onto the glass, and even though the house was dark behind him, Marshall just knew that tail would be wagging ceaselessly. Hank’s happiness meter was going off the charts. Pushing open the door, Pablo Picasso came to twine himself around Marshall’s legs. His footsteps echoed on the hardwood and Marshall thought about those cherry pajamas again. Imaginehaving someone like Colette waiting for him at home night after night. An enchanting vision of her cuddled under a sofa blanket, waiting for him to join her to watch a movie with a giant bowl of popcorn, appeared in his mind. His mouth curved into a smile, wondering if they would fight about which movie to watch. Obviously.
She would probably want to watch some predictable romcom, and he would be fighting for a chance to rewatchDunebecause he fell asleep the first time he tried to see the movie.
Marshall shook his head to clear his thoughts. Sexual fantasies about a woman? Normal. Domestic fantasies? That was a new one for him. He’d better check his temperature later, because he must be coming down with something. Opening a can of cat food, he plopped the contents on a plate and left it on the counter. Pablo hopped up, purring and lapping up the meal enthusiastically. Marshall patted the cat and stared out the kitchen window.
“Imagine, Pablo, she said nice guys don’t have to advertise that they’re nice,” he grumbled. “I take care of you, don’t I? Only a great guy would do that.”
Try as he might, the petite dark-haired woman had gotten under his skin. Every day at the ranch was busy and yet, comfortingly predictable. When he had moved here permanently, Marshall had taken great comfort in finding his place. Here among the animals, in the long days of hard physical labor, he was needed. He was important. Most significantly, he was successful.
That is, until things started happening that Marshall had no way of explaining. The truth was, he needed Colette to help him figure out what was going on, as well as rebuild the relationships and reputation that had been damaged by his mistakes.
Forget that she was now an employee of the ranch and therefore his coworker. Forget that there was absolutely no wayhe would want to abuse such a power dynamic by lusting after her. That was just not going to happen.
Roger warned him not to get involved with Simone’s friend, to protect her from the other cowboys that would surely seek her out for some fun. Marshall had absolutely no problem agreeing to that. Until…
Until he laid eyes on Colette Slip.
He had his work cut out for him, keeping the other men away from her for sure.
The smell of cat food was just enough to distract his wandering thoughts. Placing a bowl of kibble on the floor for Hank, Marshall went in search of his own sustenance. A plate of leftovers would do just fine.
Maybe he needed to have a staff meeting about the new hire. Establish some rules. Had she hinted at wanting a ranch romance? He needed to keep that information under wraps. Some of his workers would lap that information up like ice cream on a cone. He was lucky to have such a reliable crew of hardworking people, but they were horny bastards. Except Jack, of course. If Marshall was honest, the ranch was a bit of a sausage party. There were a lot of pats on the back, chuckling, and gossiping about women. Maybe he needed a rule about that, too. Keep things professional and respectful. No talking about their latest conquests over the weekend.
Their new accountant was going to cause an uproar, especially if the men found out about her cherry pajamas. Which is why Marshall congratulated himself on warning her to close her curtains. That was something a great guy would do. He swallowed a bite of the spinach-and-cheese-stuffed chicken breast and mushroom risotto. Delicious. He had so much to be grateful for when it came to life on the ranch. Everything had been great. Peaceful. Predictable, even.
He shrugged. There would be an adjustment period, but they would all figure it out. The dishes clattered in the sink, and he rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher and heading to his bedroom suite to shower. The main house at Rosebud Ranch had several large suites, for when his grandparents, parents, brother, and sister decided to visit. Each had their own spaces to hang out and enjoy the expansive views of the ranch. Marshall tossed his hat on the gray stuffed chair in his room and pulled off his clothes.
See?
Same as every night.
Routine was his beacon, and he would always run to it for comfort.
Routine had helped him rebuild himself after his life fell apart. It kept him sane and guided him on his path to being a better man. The hot water steamed up the bathroom as he finished undressing. As long as nothing changed, Colette could do the work she had been hired to do, then head back to the city where she belonged when her time here was up. That had always been the plan. She could take her damn cherry pajamas and those sweet curves and high-tail it out of here. Keep those large blue eyes to herself. Damn those eyes that made it so hard to look away. Oh, and damn those pouty pink lips, too. He scoffed. The steam in the shower activated each skin cell at the image of her tonight, bright and sweet, pouring that beer with such adorable concentration.
Marshall tilted his head back and groaned. She made every part of him ache in a way he hadn’t in ages. Marshall didn’t lust after women like this. It wasn’t part of his routine. He tried to quell the sensation that was hardening his nipples as well as other places on his body. Just soap up and get out. Turns out, the rubbing of the bar of soap over his skin was only making it worse. He released a frustrated growl. Hot water pelted hismuscles and there was no resisting the temptation. He would never be able to sleep if he left his raging boner unattended. A hand ran down his stomach, and he gritted his teeth as it reached his aching length. Steadying himself with his other hand on the tile wall, Marshall closed his eyes and gave in to the fantasy.
With each stroke of his cock, he envisioned her. Colette standing on a chair, wiggling that butt, those same hot curves pressed against his groin. Colette wrapping her mouth around a chip and licking her fingers. Her soft cherry-pink pout pressed against his lips, his chest, and wrapped around his cock. Marshall pumped, his length getting harder with each image that flashed in his mind. He could hear her soft whimpers as he pulled her thighs apart and discovered what was up her naughty little skirt. Marshall was confident she would make all sorts of noises in bed. She would welcome him into her body and give a little cry with each hard thrust. Marshall groaned and came into his hand, hot cum splattering against the tile.
“Fuck,” he said, tremors coursing through his body. After letting the water wash away all signs of his lust, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Just because he couldn’t touch her didn’t mean he wasn’t going to think about it. A man had needs. It was just basic desire. He leaned against the shower wall, fully accepting the new reality. As long as Colette Slip was staying at Rosebud Ranch, these self-love shower sessions might be his new reality. A necessity to keep his surging feelings under control.
He was going to do the one thing he dreaded.
Marshall King was making an adjustment to his routine.
CHAPTER 8
These outdoor morning meetings had better not become a part of her routine.
Colette huffed a breath. This was a one-time thing. Get acquainted with the ranch. Start to understand how it operated. Appreciate the expansive reach of the property, the number of livestock. It made perfect sense, really.
Unfortunately, because of last night, Colette was once again trying to make a good impression. She had managed to offend Marshall with her botched introduction and then later with her cherry pajamas. Colette frowned; her pajamas were her business. If he demanded she close the curtains, then fine. She would close the curtains, but that was the only concession she would make.
