I roll my eyes.
“Now, I wouldn’t know about that.” His tone says the opposite of his words.
“Life would be so much easier if you tamed it,” Fiona says.
“What are—”
“Her wild is one of her best parts,” Jack says, looking at me for the first time since stepping up here. But it’s the look that he gives me—eyes intense, expression sincere—that knocks me speechless.
Even more so, it leaves Fiona in the same boat as he studies me and she stares at us.
I scramble for something to say. Anything. “You needed me? You said you did. What did you need?”
Jack’s smile widens at my nervous rambling. “How’s the wine?”
“It’s fine—I’m not—Fiona—”
“Girl, will you listen to yourself?” Fiona says through a laugh as she slaps a hand on her knee, her own wine sloshing over the side of her glass. “You do not need to apologize for a little mid-afternoon drink with a friend. Does she now, Jack?”
“Not in the least,” he murmurs, looking back to Fiona, and I finally feel like I can breathe when he does. “Everyone needs a little release sometimes.”
“That they do,” Fi agrees.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He sets the bag he had been holding down and then raises his arms to lift his hat before resettling it on his head. Neither Fiona nor I miss the flex of his biceps.
“Interrupt away,” Fi says, garnering another smile from Jack.
“You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you, Mrs. Camden?”
“That’s Ms., and yes, I just might be.”
“Everyone needs a friend who is,” he says before turning to me as if remembering I’m still here listening. I’m still busy trying to get over his her wild is one of her best parts comment. “I need to schedule some time with you to go over a few things.”
“Things?”
“Breeding schedules,” he says. “The mares are starting to show signs that they’re getting close to heat, so I want your approval of which studs to line with which mares to ensure success.”
“And how exactly do they show it?” Fiona asks.
His chuckle is like sandpaper over my skin but in all the good ways. The twist of his lips and shake of his head says he isn’t walking into Fiona’s trap. “We’ll just say that when a female is in heat, any cowboy worth his salt knows it.”
“Mmm. And how do you go about picking the right stallion?”
“Animal attraction is something you can’t deny.” He turns to face me again, eyes holding amusement but darkening with something else. “Tomorrow perhaps?”
“Yes. Sure. I’m free in the afternoon.”
“You can go over it now if you want,” Fiona interjects. “I was just getting ready to head out.”
His smile is slow and lazy as it spreads over his lips. “No need to. I have to go take a shower.”
“A shower?” Both Fi and I say in unison. I’m sure she’s imagining his slick muscles in the shower while I’m wondering why he’s cutting out of work early.
Ha. Who am I kissing—kidding, I mean kidding. Oh, forget it. I’m imagining the same thing she is.
It must be the wine.
It has to be the wine.
“Yes. Shower.” He grabs the bag he just put down and moves it to the table next to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, my head slightly spinning as everything about Jack assaults me. Dimples. Eyes. Him.
“Steaks.”
“Steaks?” I squeak out.
“Mm-hmm. You said you were going to cook me dinner, Knox. I brought the steaks. Now I’m going to go take a shower because it’s rude to show up to dinner sweaty and stinky when someone has taken the time and trouble to cook for you.”
His smile says he has my number.
Mine says he’s a smug bastard.
“You were serious?” I laugh because, clearly, he was. My pulse is suddenly racing at the idea of us sharing a meal together.
Alone.
“As a heart attack.” He takes a step back and purses his lips to see if I’ll call chicken, which I don’t. “See you in about an hour.” He turns to Fiona. “It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am. I hope to see you around here more often. Tate’s laughter is a rare thing, but it’s been ringing out over the ranch all afternoon. That’s because of you.”
With a nod, Jack turns on his heel and heads down the stairs, giving both of us a perfect view of his ass and strong shoulders as he moves toward the bunkhouse.
“If you don’t screw that man, Tatum Knox, there is something definitely wrong with you,” she all but sings under her breath.
“And how exactly am I supposed to respond to that?”
“Say, yes. Say, what the hell, I deserve it. Say, I deserve him.” She murmurs something under her breath that I can’t quite make out and pulls my attention to her because daydreaming about Jack is how I got in this mess in the first place. “And I love how he calls you Knox.”
“I hate it.”
“Why?” she asks.
I shake my head as if it isn’t important. It is kind of silly that I want to hear him say my name so I know how it sounds on his lips.
“I mean . . . what do I . . .”
“What do you do now?” she asks. “You take your glass of wine and strut that cute little butt of yours inside. You primp and shave and lotion and spritz every crack and crevice of that body because, let’s face it, you want him to explore all of those places. You want to feel his goatee in all of those places.” She winks and mock shudders as if she’s the one experiencing it. “You wear something casual but not ranch-y. You let that hair down and do simple makeup. You know, because you want him to notice but you don’t want to look like you tried too hard or care too much.”
My laugh is laced with nerves. “But he works for me, Fi. Isn’t that a big enough problem in and of itself?”
“Yeah, but he’ll be gone in, like, what? Four months? Five months?”
“Something like that.”
“Perfect. A little something to get over Fletcher. A man to make you realize you deserve better and show you a hint of what else is out there. It’s actually ideal since there isn’t the option of long-term ties.”
“It’s one dinner. No one said anything about long-term anything or a relationship.”
“But you wondered about it. It’s all you’ve ever known, so it’s natural to be scared of entering into something that is the opposite.” She reaches out and pours the rest of the bottle into my glass. “Sex. An action. A verb. Don’t overthink it.”
“I told myself earlier today that I was going to own it. Own this. But it’s so much easier said than done.”
“True, but so is seducing a woman at the same time as asking her to cook you dinner.” She clucks her tongue. “But I just watched a man tell you that you’re cooking his dinner, and we both swooned. Either we’re that gullible or he’s that good.”
“He’s that good,” I say.
“Then he’ll probably be good at everything else too.”