“You are gonna be a good girl, here, and I’ll be a good girl over there.” I stare at the tan brick house and sigh, “Wish me luck, I may have to stay in here with you.”
I get Midnight situated and walk with hesitant steps to Oliver’s door.
CHAPTER 3
OLIVER
My gut tellsme who is outside my door before I even open it.
“Oliver!” Her voice rakes down my back. The exact way her fingernails scratched me that night before she left for college. The paths light like lightning strikes shooting down my back, and I freeze.
I shouldn’t open this door. I should go back to sitting my ass on the couch. Yet my hand is over the handle, whipping the door open faster than I can talk myself out of it.
Renna Winehouse is here once more. This time soaked from the rain. Her dark brown hair clings to her face, curling as the droplets hit her once straight strands.
She’s drop-dead gorgeous as per fucking usual.
“Are you gonna let me in or just stare at me?”
“I should send your little ass off to the main house,” I say, trying not to stare at her but failing miserably.
“In the rain? That’s not very gentlemanly.” Little does she know, sending her home in the rain is the most gentlemanly thing running through my brain right now.
She’s soaked. Her wet white top clings to her breasts, bunching at her waist and her jeans–God, her fucking jeans. Peeling those off her skin would be like a shot from heaven.
“No, it’s not gentlemanly at all,” I say, letting the minx in. I scoff, knowing damn well I can’t leave her of all people out in the storm.
Not only because she’s a woman but because she is my boss’ daughter.
The ranch owner’s daughter.
He’d have questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Yes sir, I’m in love with your daughter, but don’t worry, I only got into her pants once and it probably won’t happen again since she’s so beyond out of my fucking league that I can’t fathom her wanting to ride me again.
She sways into my home as if she owns it.
Renna technically does, her last name being on the land deed, but still. She’s here. Again. Drenched. Soaking.
A fucking wet dream. If I didn’t think she’d see me, I’d pinch myself to make sure this was real.
The Ranch Princess is a flirt. She’s always been. We weren’t meant to be more than a one night stand, and her constant teasing burns the tiny flame of hope in my gut.
The hope she might like me a quarter of the amount that I like her…
“You never changed,” she says, looking around the room. She moves with a familiarity she shouldn’t have.
The house is small. A living room with a fireplace, tv, and couch with the kitchen directly across from it. An island lined with barstools is in place of a dining table. A single bedroom and one bathroom and I have all I ever needed.
All I deserved.
Mr. Winehouse gave me everything. I was kicked out of my mom’s house at 17 and was still in high school. I worked at thelocal farmer’s supply when I met Winehouse, and he gave me a job. Ten years later, I worked up to being his foreman. Now I’m the ranch’s right-hand man, and I’ve never been happier. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and surrounded by good people.
There shouldn’t be anything more I could ask for.
But then, there she is. There she always been.
“What’s there to change?” I ask, trying to keep an appropriate amount of space between us. I watch as she slides off her boots and hops onto a barstool at my kitchen counter.
