“Don’t get comfortable; you’re leaving as soon as the storm passes.”
“What, can’t I stay?” She pouts with an upward tick of her lips. “Oh, come on, wrangler, you sure you don’t want another taste?”
I freeze up. That night plays in my mind, the night before she left for college, at point five speed as she stares at me. Direct eye contact and all, not a single hint of blush at the mention of the night we have together.
Her eyes twinkle under the dim light of the chandelier, light, thing. She’s fucking beautiful with deep dark skin and just as dark eyes and—fuck. I push away from the counter and turn towards the fridge.
I can’t let her see how that night still affects me. How my dick hardens and my face flushes as if I’d been working in 100-degree weather for ten hours. What man’s face flushes at the mere mention of one damn night?
I pour her a cup of water from the fridge to stay busy,and I hear her shift in her seat.
Is she uncomfortable? She’s the one who mentioned it, not me–no. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t pay this close attention to her, but every sound she makes, from the creak in the floorboard to the water drops from her hair, I can hear. My skin gets hotwith each movement she makes. The tattoos down my arms light up, remembering the way she traced them.
“You need a towel.” I try to leave the room, but her voice stops me.
“Why’d you leave?” Her voice is low, shy even, but Renna Winehouse isn’t one to let nerves stop her from doing something.
“I had to.” I say. The last night I ever slept with someone playing in my head like a damn movie. As it always does.
“Cut the shit, Wrangler. Why did you leave?” I turn around and place the glass in front of her. She doesn’t drink it, wanting an answer from me, I’m sure. The Winehouse Princess is used to people jumping at her every demand, but I can’t. Not about this. And she’s not happy about it.
I don’t even know why she’s asking. Why does she care? She’s got everything going for her. She’s got the college degree. The fancy high-rise apartment in the city. Friends, boyfriends, I’m sure. Why is she asking about me?
She disregards the obvious space I’m trying to keep between us and launches out of her stool, rounding the counter. She’s got a hand on her hip and one on the counter.
She’s way too close, and I can smell the fresh rain coming off her and the twang of her cherry-scented lotion. I step back, but she just steps forward.
“Wasn’t it easier?” I ask. Is she rubbing the fact I can’t have her in my face? “We both know–” I stop. I can’t fathom the words out loud. The embarrassment floods my face as I think about our backgrounds, our history. I could never have her, because I wasn’t–I don’t have the prestige. The wealth backing me, like all her past boyfriends did.
I’m just a wrangler. No name, no land, nothing.
“Easier? Are you kidding me?” She scoffs.
“No. You were leaving anyway. You had college, a career, a dream. You always wanted to live in the city.” I’m confused and getting frustrated trying to keep my hands to myself. She doesn’t care. She grabs the front of my shirt with wet hands and yanks me down to her face. She glares at me, and I can’t help but think about how hot she is.
“You think I spent years pining and flirting with you because I wanted a one night stand?”
Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.
The fire flares, and I can’t seem to focus on the reasons I have to stay away from her. She’s the boss’ daughter. Her life isn’t here. She can’t want me the way I want her.
“Oliver, I’ve wanted you, and I still do.”
Still do.
She still does?
“Why?” I ask like a dumb fucking schoolboy. But this doesn’t make any fucking sense. She laughs, throwing her head back, but the laugh isn’t light like her normal laughs are. This one’s got an edge. Her eyes land on mine, just as sharp.
“You want a list, cowboy? You want a poem? Got me chasing you around for a crumb of your damn attention for the last five years you’ve been on this ranch, and you have the gall to think I don’t want you?”
For once, I see it. Her brown eyes, they shine, and I finally see it all. The want, the need. Everything. Everything.
I wait for her to take it back. I wait for her to let me go, but she doesn’t. She holds my shirt in her hand and keeps me level with her.
A moment is all I wait for.
It’s all it takes.
