Page 14 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Suppose curiosity killed the cat. Or in this case, the city girl.” I apprehensively laugh, hoping a little joke may lighten the intensity of the moment.

It doesn’t. Wade keeps still expression unchanging. But his eyes drop to my chest, where my pyjama top hangs a little too low, and my clearly visible, hard nipples peak through the traitorously thin fabric. I suddenly feel way too exposed. I wrap my arms around my body, collecting whatever dignity I have left in this moment.

“Okay. No time for jokes, got it. I’m just… uh, gonna go now.”

I sidestep out the doorway, brushing ever so slightly against his broad frame. Close enough to catch his scent—sharp and almost fruity, with a smoky warmth underneath that makes me want to linger a few seconds longer than I should.

But I most definitely shouldn’t do that. No, I have to get to the safety of my room, so I keep moving.

I slip back into my room, shutting the door gently behind me and leaning against it for a second as I exhale.

What the hell was that?

Apparently, my body did not get the same memo as my brain. We do not like that man. Not one fucking bit. Yet standing that close to him in the dark has done absolutely nothing to convince me otherwise.

I throw myself back onto the bed, a traitorous warmth coiling low in my belly, my thighs clenching completely of their own accord. I must be ovulating. The only logical explanation for this reaction to such a small, stupid moment. As undeniably hot as this man is, this should not be happening.

The rudeness should cancel it out. The scowling should cancel it out. The fact that he is my boss and made it abundantly clear he didn't want me here should absolutely cancel it out.

It doesn't.

Which is irritating beyond words.

I pick up my Kindle in a desperate attempt to distract myself. Forty minutes later, I have read the same page approximately nine times and retained absolutely nothing. My mind won't stop circling back to how my body reacted to him being near me, in the early hours by ourselves. The brief brush of contact in the doorway that my skin is remembering far too vividly.

It's fucking irritating

But there's nothing to be done about it right now, and people will be flooding the house soon enough. I put the Kindle down, get dressed, and prepare to face whatever awkward encounters come my way in the only way I know how: sass and fake confidence.

I pick out some denim dungarees with a white short-sleeved top, something that I think is ranch acceptable, even though I have no bloody clue. I pull my hair up in a half-up, half-down ponytail.

By the time I’m tying the laces of my Dr Martens, there’s a light knock on my door.

I open it to find a cheery Colt; he has way too much energy for someone whose mornings start before the sun is up.

“Ready for your first day?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, smiling as I shut the door behind me and follow him down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Mrs Mae is already wearing her apron, scrambled eggs in one hand, and a plate of freshly cut bread in the other. The smell of both hits me before I’ve already walked through the door.

“Morning, sweet pea.” She beams at me. “Sleep alright?”

“Mostly, a little bit of jet lag, but nothing caffeine can’t fix.”

Two ranch hands, Steven and Wyatt, are already seated at the table. Their easy greetings settle the first full day’s nerves. I slide into the seat next to them, and Colt sets a mug of coffee in front of me before dropping himself into the chair across the table.

“So,” he says. “Ever been on a horse before?”

I give him a deadpan look over the rim of my mug. “Does riding the carousel at Hyde Park count?”

He laughs. “Not quite”

“Figured.”

“Alright, we’re starting from scratch then. But lucky for you, Miss, I am an excellent teacher, and we’ll have you all saddle up—”

“No more dicking around”