Page 19 of Branded Betrayal

Every time I think I’ve clawed myself free of him, he drags me back under. Blaze Hartman isn’t a man. He’s a damning curse branded into my heart.

I glare at the back of his truck, my wet hair stuck to the back of my neck, skin prickled with sweat and lust. Smug-ass bastard just waltzing in here like he owns the place.

Like he owns me.

And I proved his point. Because I don’t know shit about running a ranch. What I do know is how deliciously good it felt to have his eyes undress me, his fingers locked on my hips, his skin like fire against mine.

The touch sent a charge of electricity straight through me even though my brain screamed for me to pull away.

Stupid. Reckless. Dangerous.

Dammit.

Six years ago, his touch felt like possibility, like we had all the time in the world to figure out who we were and what we wanted to become.

My heart is still racing. From anger, I tell myself. Just anger.

Not from the way he looked at me. Not from the magnetic pull I felt when he invaded my airspace. Not from the traitorous parts of my body that wanted to close the distance between us instead of shove him away.

I slam the barn door harder than I mean to, which isn’t smart since everything on the ranch seems to be on its last rusty hinge, and stalk back to the house.

Inside, I pour a glass of water, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I gulp it down too fast, then fill the glass again.

You felt nothing. That was just shock. Surprise. Heart muscle memory. Whatever the hell.

But they’re lies. All lies.

I felt everything. That’s my problem.

Sinking into one of Aunt Marg’s kitchen chairs, I drop my head into my hands.

Six years ago, I let him make me believe I was someone he could love, someone worth sticking around for. I figured I could be the one to help soothe his pain, the one to help battle against his demons.

I stupidly thought love would be enough to conquer all.

Silly, naive girl.

It wasn’t. Not even close.

He shattered me, then disappeared. His actions made it crystal clear that whatever I thought we had was just in my head. Never reality.

My parents died, and he broke my heart right after their funeral.

That’s who Blaze Hartman is. Not the boy who used to drive me up to Lover’s Bluff with chocolate chip cookies and cheap wine. Not the one who made me feel like the only girl in the world when he looked at me.

He’s the one who turned his back on me when things got hard.

I know him. And I despise him.

So why did my entire body light up like a Christmas tree the second I saw him today?

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes to force away the image of him standing in my barn. The way his jaw tightened when I told him to leave. The way his eyes tracked my every movement like I was something he’d lost and found again.

No. Absolutely not.

I’m not doing this. Not letting him twist me up again. He doesn’t get to walk back into my life and make me feel things. He lost that right when he abandoned me.

But—and my heart sinks at this realization—the fact that I wanted to grab him by the shirt and demand answers to my questions like why he suddenly left, why he’s back, and why he feels the need to show up here uninvited means I’m already letting him back in.