“You are such a romantic.”
“Laugh all you want,” she sighs. “What I’m telling you comes from a woman with experience. When you find a man who looks at you the way Paxton Cleary does, you sink your hooks into him, and you don’t let go. I mean, the man rented out the entire club for the night. He arranged a fireworks show. He hired professional dancers for entertainment. Top-shelf liquor all night. And the food!”
“It was delicious. I can’t imagine how much he must’ve spent on that.”
“He obviously thinks you’re worth it—and I don’t disagree.”
“I’m glad you could be there.”
“So am I. Now, get to work, young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
No sooner do I end the call though than something distracts me. A text message. A text message involving a picture.
A picture of Paxton’s bare chest and abs, the frame cutting off just above the happy trail leading further south.
Even this is enough to make me want to fan myself. I can’t help but remember the times we’ve had so far, what his skin tasted like. How it felt to let my fingers trace his muscles.
Naughty boy, I reply. What are you trying to do? Distract me so I’ll never get any work done?
He replies immediately. I was hoping you would reciprocate actually.
My teeth sink into my lip. What, you want to see a picture of my stomach?
Maybe something a little further north, if you don’t mind much.
The man is like a walking, talking aphrodisiac. I can’t help myself. I’m so wrapped up in him, in the excitement of being wanted by him.
Which is why I send him a shot of my cleavage. Sorry, you’re just going to have to fantasize about the rest until we’re together again. I add a bunch of suggestive emojis before sending it over.
No fair. Give a man something to live off of until then.
It’s tempting, but I have my limits. I’ve seen too many people’s reputations ruined by sexts to give photos away like they’re candy. You’re just going to have to use your imagination. Anticipation makes things so much better later on, don’t you think?
You’re killing me—and I love it.
I wish I could stop giggling. I need to get my head in the game, get this book finished.
My characters are reaching their critical moment—when it seems all hope is lost and they can’t be together anymore. Only in this case, it’s the poor heroine’s family and friends who don’t think things could ever work out between her and the wealthy cowboy. They don’t want to lose her, don’t want to see her live a different sort of life that will take her away from them.
And sadly, because she thinks they need her—her parents are still alive but older and somewhat dependent on her—she is willing to give him up even if it means giving up the closest thing she’s ever found to happiness.
Cracking my knuckles, I launch into the scene.
“I don’t understand this. What are you telling me? We were so happy before, but now …”
She shook her head, fighting back tears. One of them had to be strong, and it was going to have to be her. Because it was for the best. She didn’t belong in his world, and he didn’t belong in hers. How could she possibly hope to live up to the expectations a member of his world shouldered on a daily basis?
“We both know this can’t work permanently. It’s time we stop lying to ourselves.”
“Why do you keep using the word we, like any of this is something I want too? Don’t I get a say in any of it?” He turned his hat around and around in his hands by the brim, curling it up at the edges a little bit and probably ruining it.
Why that should matter so much to her just then was a mystery she didn’t have time to solve.
“I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. But this was never meant to last, right? This was fun, but that’s all it was—fun. We would never make it.”
“Says who? I don’t feel that way.”
He was killing her. Didn’t he know he was killing her? Why did he insist on making this so much harder than it already was?
“I don’t have to like it, but I know it’s right. Please, if you care about me at all, you’ll accept this. Our worlds don’t match. There’s no way we could be happy in the long-term.”
“To hell with our worlds!” He reached for her, but she backed away just in time. That was the worst, watching his face fall as his hands went limp by his sides. “All I care about is you. I don’t care about my family, the people they know. Honestly, I don’t care about the people you know. I only care about you.”
“Here’s the thing though. We can’t ignore everybody else in our lives just because we want to. We don’t live in a bubble, no matter how nice of an idea that is. We do have family. We do have friends. And we can’t forget them. It would make you miserable in the long run—don’t pretend it wouldn’t. You love your family even if they drive you nuts. Just like I love mine.”
My phone buzzes, cutting off my next thought. I usually turn it off or at least put it on Do Not Disturb during a writing session, but I can’t help it. I want to be available when Paxton reaches out. I already miss him, and it’s only been three days since the party. He didn’t fly out again until Saturday morning, and we spent a mind-blowing night together at The Plaza.
I’m afraid he’s become something of an addiction, and I have no plans at the present time to break myself of him.
I’m actually disappointed when I find it is Hayley who texted.
How’s it going today? You okay without your big, strong cowboy?
Actually, I text back, I’m trying to get some work done. But to answer your question, not really. I already can’t wait to get back out there.
She replies with a bunch of laughing emojis. I never thought you would learn to love the ranch life.
Yes, because that’s what I miss. She knows all too well, and she’s only teasing.
It’s time for a break anyway, so I get up and stretch the way I try to do at least a couple times an hour. I grab something to drink and some grapes from the fridge.
And then, in a moment of sheer wickedness, I take out the dress I wore to the birthday party for Paxton’s dad, which Paxton told me to keep—granted, what would he do with it? It’s hanging on the back of my closet door when I take a picture of it and send it to him. No caption. Just a reminder of our exciting little quickie while I was wearing it.
It’s not until later, when taking another break, that I wonder why he hasn’t gotten back to me. He’s busy. I can’t expect to monopolize all of his time. I get back to work, trying to throw myself into my writing so when I visit Paxton again, I can do it without a book on the brain.
By eight o’clock, I’m starting to feel little perturbed. Sure, I’ve gotten a ton of work done today, but Paxton hasn’t gotten back to me. Is he pouting because I wouldn’t send him anything more revealing than my cleavage? No, he’s not some immature, little boy. He wouldn’t go off to a corner and pout because I didn’t send him a picture of my boobs.
At least, I hope not.
Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I send him a quick text. How was your day? Hope everything went well. Give me a call if you have the time.