‘Not a fan of good guys?’ I tease, but wish I hadn’t when I sense she might pull away from me.
‘No, it’s just … I’m not sticking around in Texas. As soon as I can get on a desk in Washington, I’m going. Political reporting is my new dream, and I’ve already had to walk away from one so you know I’m never giving up on this. My whole life is about my career, the career I want, the role I know I’ll be best at. The last thing I need is to … you know, get carried away with something, with someone … special.’
I know she’s telling me why wecan’tdo this, or at least why weshouldn’t, but the way she says that, the way she basically implies she’s worried I’ll be too good to walk away from, that this thing might grow to be more than she can handle, makes my chest puff up like a singing bird’s.
‘What if I tell you I won’t let that happen?’ I say, my voice gruff.
Her eyes hold mine.
‘What if I promise on my life I won’t let this get serious?’
She toys with her fingers.
‘Listen, Bay Jay.’ I infuse my voice with a teasing tone. ‘I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve never been with a woman who’s wanted more from me. I don’t do serious, I don’t do commitment. As much as you’re chasin’ your dreams, I’m chasin’ mine. You’re going to Washington, I’m going around the country doing this, and then, one day, I’m retiring to a big, dusty ranch in Northern Arizona, to live among the cows and the coyotes, and that’s just about as far from politics as you can get.’ I reach out and press my finger to her chin. ‘You can relax, honey. I’ll take care of you, just how you wanna be taken care of, and then I’ll let you go again. Simple, right?’
Chapter Twelve
Bailey
He does make it sound simple. So simple I almost forget the reasons I had for doing a blind-panic bolt from his room. But it was everything—not just the FaceTime call with his family, so much as the sheer spiral I felt when I got dressed in the bathroom and realised how much I didn’t want to leave his room. How much I wanted to stay there with Beau. In his arms, his bed, listening to his stories, even just with my head resting on his chest so I could hear the deep throb of his voice up close as he spoke.
Which is needy in a way I promised myself I’d never be again.
The worst thing about the situation with Kirk is something I still struggle to face: how tempted I was to stay with him anyway. Even once I found out. By then, I loved him like I hadn’t known possible. I loved him with all my heart.
I really thought he was my other half.
We shared the same interests, the same goals. We’d built a whole future life around what I believed we both wanted, where we saw ourselves ending up, and I was so invested in that I never took a breath to read the warning signs. I just trusted him, and believed him. When I saw his wife, saw them together, I was furious, and then I was just desperate to cling to whatever he would give me. Breadcrumbs of the life I thought we’d lead.
I wasn’t tempted for long.
I knew, even as I tried to work out how I could still be his and have him be mine, that he never really had been. It was all an illusion. But for a few minutes, I was the worst kind of traitor to women, and I hate that he did that to me.
Afterward, I swore I would never get so swallowed up by a man that I couldn’t think straight.
I’ve only known Beau a few days, but I guess it seems like I’ve known him even longer because of how much research I’ve done. And the truth that I hold deep, deep down in my chest is that I can see the risks here. He is the kind of man who could consume even the most cautious of women. He would be so easy to love, to want to be loved by, even when I know that’s not on the table.
‘No pressure, Bay Jay.’ And he gives me that adorable, relaxed, easygoing smile of his and stands again, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like this really is the easiest thing.
I stare up at him and try to exhale, to tell myself I’ve been so messed up by Kirk that I can’t take anyone or anything at face value. I tell myself that Beau is not Kirk, that he’s one of the good ones. That no matter what else, I’m safe with him—for right now. Probably safest of all, because we both know what this is, and isn’t, from the outset. No fake promises, no mixed messages.
‘Okay,’ I say, a little embarrassed now at how I’d basically run out on him. I stand up, so we’re toe to toe. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted. That’s really not like me. It’s just … none of this is like me,’ I admit. ‘I guess I’m a little thrown by recent events.’
‘Baby, sometimes being thrown is just what a person needs.’ And to prove his point, he lifts me up and plonks me down in the middle of the bed, his big, beautiful frame over mine, his smile ribbing me and asking me a question all at once. I push up onto my elbows and kiss him—to hell with being scared, to hell with letting Kirk call any more shots in my life. A few weeks with a sexy, rugged, casual cowboy is just what the doctor ordered.
I wake up the next morning all alone. But Beau hasn’t just run out on me. That’s not his style, either. He’s left a note, and my lips curve into a smile as I pluck it from the top of the pillow.
You are a seriously sexy newspaper lady. See you later today x
I fall back against my pillow, the grin on my face stretching from ear to ear as I stare up at the ceiling, my heart thumping as memories of last night slam back into me. Whatever else Beau might be, he is incredible in bed. Like, mind-blowingly good. So much so I can’t even remember sex before him. He takes up all the space in my mind for fantasies, making it impossible to regret what we’re doing.
But only for a moment. As I get up and shower then pull on some clothes, I try to focus my scattered brain on the feature I’m meant to be writing. I’ve been around for days now, and I’ve definitely gotten a better sense of him, but there are still so many proper research questions I need to ask. Questions I keep gettingsidetracked from, because just being near him is as distracting as anything.
I suck in a breath and crack open my laptop, loading up my emails before grabbing a coffee from the machine in my room and carrying the mug to the small desk. I settle down and sift through a whole heap of messages, then open a blank Word document.
What is it about bull riding that captures the imagination of so many? Skill, risk, reward …
I sit back in my chair and stare at the screen. My fingertips itch. For Beau. To touch his ridged, muscular abdomen, his lips, his hips. I pick up my phone instead, and for some stupid reason glance toward the door to my room, like he might be about to burst in and find me snooping online for photos of him.
