My breath catches when he places his hands on my shoulders and presses the heat of his body to my back.
If he is trying to make me concentrate harder, this is not the way to go about it. Every brush of his body against mine, each whisper of touch from him, has me reliving his body on mine—in mine—last night and throwing an axe is the last thing I’m thinking of.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his hands and arms shadowing mine as he mimics a throw so I understand what he means.
“Yes. Okay. Sure. I’ve got it.” I try to step forward, to gain some distance, but he stays put.
“Do you always ramble, Knox, or is it only reserved for me?”
I glance over my shoulder, hating and loving that he makes me feel like this. Flustered. Seen. Heard. Admired.
“I’m not. This is just . . . unnerving.”
“Unnerving?”
“More like distracting, and if I’m distracted, I’m going to be looking your way and accidentally throw it so . . .” I eye the empty space behind him for him to step into and give me distance. “There are certain parts of your body that I’m sure you’re overly fond of.”
“I didn’t hear you complain about those parts,” he says coyly, the grin on his lips telling me he’s not complaining either. The way his eyes drink me in tells me his mind is there too.
Aware that people are most likely eavesdropping on our conversation, I stand there, axe over my head ready to throw and question how to answer that question. I’m his boss and we had sex but I don’t know what, if anything, that means. I’ve never done this. The sex before a relationship thing, so how exactly is one to act?
When we’re at the ranch, it’s one thing. But here, in public . . . I‘m not sure.
And I think Jack sees the panic in my eyes because he just stares at me above the rim of his beer as he takes a drink and redirects the conversation away from everything that is in my expression. “Point the axe that way, Knox.” A wink. A lean of his hip against the wall to the side of me. “Throw it. I promise it’s therapeutic.”
“But what if I accidentally throw it too late and it hits my leg and cuts it off?”
“Christ, woman.” He chuckles with a shake of his head. “Then you’d be a peg-leg pirate, and that isn’t a good look for a rancher, so I suggest you don’t do that.” I laugh. “Try it.”
With a deep breath and a little yelp of fear, I let the axe fly.
It hits the wood with a thump and falls to the floor with a thud. “Shit.” I reach back to grab another one. “I want to try again.”
And this time, when the axe hits the outer edge of the target and sticks, I let out a whoop of satisfaction.
25
JACK
“Wasn’t it therapeutic?”
Tate stares at me above the rim of her wine glass, eyes alive, and cheeks flushed as she nods. “It was.”
She looks back over to where there is some kind of competition going on. Who knew there were axe-throwing leagues? When I follow her gaze, I catch sight of the two jackasses who’ve been sitting in the corner paying more attention to us than anything else in here, but pay them no mind.
It’s her I’m drawn to.
It’s the smile that widens on her lips and the wisps of hair that’ve fallen out of her ponytail. It’s the tension that has eased from the set of her shoulders, and the way she’s had enough to drink that she’s stopped caring about what everyone else in this bar thinks of her.
Even with all of that, the only thing I keep thinking about is last night and how fucking bad I want to have her again.
Only in a bed instead of on the table.
This time I want to taste her pussy.
This time I want to demand she look at me so she knows it’s me who’s buried deep inside her.
Christ.
I shift in my seat to adjust for my dick getting hard.
“Thank God, they kicked us off the lane for”—she waves her hand in indifference to the teams of men lined up to compete— “whatever it is that has those men looking way too damn serious. It is not safe for me to throw an axe right now.” She holds her empty wine glass up as her laugh rings out. “Cheap date alert, right here.”
“That’s something that probably isn’t best to advertise too loudly,” I say jokingly.
“Not like any of them would step within five feet of me.” She snorts.
And I’d kill them if they did.
The thought comes out of nowhere at the same time as a cheer goes up to our left. Someone has hit the highest point marker on the target, and I’m grateful for the distraction so I can shake the thought away.
Where the hell did that come from?
But when I look back to her, I know exactly where it came from.
God, she’s fucking beautiful, incredible . . .
I lift my finger to the waiter for another round of drinks because I’m pretty sure I need it right now.
“Hey?”
Tate’s voice draws my attention back to her even though my mind hasn’t stopped thinking about her. “Hmm?”
“Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” I offer a tight smile.
“Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” The unexpected question throws me.
“Something about me?”
She bites her bottom lip and nods like an eager kid.
“I thought I was invincible when I was younger.”
“Don’t we all?” she murmurs as she rests her chin on her hand and leans forward.
“I tried my hand at bronco riding.”
“You did?” she asks, her eyes widening as she tries to take a sip from her empty glass and then giggles.
“I did.” I lean back. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“No?”
“No. The scar across my collarbone is a reminder of the end result. A hoof to the chest is never a good thing.”
She winces and runs a hand over her own in sympathy. “What made you try something like that?”
I was hurt and rebelling and trying to live up to expectations that I’d never reach. Doing something rash to thumb my nose at my dad seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Stupidity,” I say through a laugh. “Quid pro quo.” Her eyebrow lifts in acknowledgment. “Why don’t you do photography anymore?”
There’s a falter in her body language that tells me this is a touchy subject.
Good. It should be. If the images she posted in the newspaper were any indication of her talent, then her putting the camera down is a damn travesty.
“I do sometimes.” She looks over to the competition where a huge cheer just went up. “Did you see that? He—”
“Uh-uh, Tate. You are not skating out of answering this question. You have serious talent. Your pictures should be on a wall somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Her lips say the words but her eyes have a flash of regret or maybe resentment in them.
“What happened? Why did you stop pursuing it?”
“I had some opportunities, but Fletcher needed me on the ranch.”
That’s such bullshit, but I bite back the comment about what a crap move that was on Fletcher’s part.