ELIZA
The white sheer curtains rustle in the breeze. I shouldn’t, but I do. Pulling them back an inch, just a sliver wide enough to watch.
Down below, I see him—buck naked and waist-deep in water. His back is to me, skin glistening in the low slant of the setting sun, the sky streaked pink and blue, purple and gold.
Breathtaking. I’m not talking about the sky.
My eyes trace the places where puckered scars break the angles and planes. And the tattoos. All black ink. Abstract.
Almost tribal, but not. Something else.
Like the symbol in the alfalfa field.
He stretches, muscles rippling along the length of his back, stepping back out of the water just enough so I see the angular lines cutting diagonally across his hips, catch a faint tease of black hair that disappears beneath the water.
Suddenly, his eyes are locked on me. I gasp, letting the curtain fall.
A flash of turquoise, a look more curious than alarmed. Like he knows I’m watching. Like maybe it amuses him.
“God,” I scold myself under my breath. “Way to lose a ranch hand. But my mind fixates again… on wet flesh that pulses, heated beneath the evening sun.
When the screen door screeches and the floorboards creak, I dart for the hallway, closing the door to the guest bedroom silently.
I disappear into my bedroom, locking the door behind me. Not because I’m afraid of the man in the next room. Because I’m afraid of myself.
And afraid of this feeling that hasn’t stopped building since his arrival. This tension with nowhere to go. Just tightening… pulling toward the breaking point. Like barbed wire stretched beyond its strength.
I leave my clothes in a pile on the floor, stepping beneath hot water that washes over aching muscles. Days and days of work with no end. And always the same desire, the same surge the closer I get to the ranch house… andhim.
My mind replays our earlier conversation. Where I asked him if I smell bad.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
But not as much as the fingers that slide between my legs, sinking into heat and moisture. I’m dripping for a man I barely know. One who’s made it clear he only commits to leaving.
My fingers slide, the stretch tight. But it’s not friction I need.
It’shim.
I lean against the shower stall, breathing too fast. The cool tile takes some of the sting out of the yearning that never ends when Kael’s near.
My heart skips a beat even thinking his name.
“Desperate.” I brace myself, resting my forehead against the wall. “He couldn’t make it any clearer that he’s not staying. That he’s not interested in you.”
Still, that throb settles low. Teases and twists me. Then does it again until I can’t keep my fingers away.
Until I’m spent, shaking… and wholly unsatisfied.
God.
And my mind wanders… it never stops wandering to tanned flesh that glows and hums… and bodies pressed together without an inch of yield.
Thatdoesn’t help.
I turn the faucet to cold, force myself to stay beneath the icy stream until my teeth chatter.
But it can’t wash away the need. Too deep for words. Inevitable and impossible all at once.
