Or maybe I just wanted him so badly I was losing my mind.
I looked over my shoulder and wore a friendly smile, but his expression had that smile fading and something hotter taking its place.
He looked at me like he was still hungry for something other than food.
“Hey,” he said in a husky voice.
“Hi,” I tried to respond in a calm manner. I didn’t want him seeing, the affect he had on me. It was starting to get uncontrollable.
There he was, standing before me in nothing but a pair of black sweats and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes, just all his hard, sun-kissed skin on clear display. His abdomen was a work of art, his forearms defined with sinew and tendons, this raw masculinity pouring from him. His hair was slightly damp from the shower, and I curled my fingers into my palms at how good he looked.
I couldn’t help the thought that slammed into my head of him throwing me onto the table and having his filthy way with me right here and now.
I turned around and cleared my throat, drying off my hands with a rag and pretending that I wasn’t aroused right now, or that I hadn’t been checking him out. I tried to think of something more innocent, nonsexual.
He moved into the kitchen, and my heart started pounding a little harder, a little faster. God, he looked and smelled so good. And the whole time, he watched me. It was probably nothing, but it sure felt like something.
We said nothing, just stood there, watching each other, the heat seeming to grow in the room. And then I watched as he inhaled.
“You smell good,” he murmured, and I saw the way he lowered his eyes to my chest before snapping them back up, as if he hadn’t meant to get caught.
“It’s the lavender dish soap.” I could have slapped a hand over my mouth. God, that sounded stupid. The sight of his chest, of his broad shoulders and tanned skin, of the droplets of water that he didn’t quite get with the towel sliding down his flesh, had me wanting to lean in and lick them off.
I was so needy and wet.
He took a step closer to me, and I found myself taking a step back, the sink stopping my retreat. What was he doing?
I found myself licking my lips, unsure what to say, unsure what the hell was even going on. The room was unbearably hot all of a sudden, and I found beads of sweat starting to dot my forehead. Dalton’s jaw and cheeks still had several days’-worth of scruff covering them, and I found that so incredibly attractive for some reason.
“What are you doing?” I finally found my voice and whispered those words. Was I imagining this, having some kind of mental breakdown, because my desires were so strong in my head I was seeing them come to life?
Oh my God, you’re losing your mind.
I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the couple shots he’d had after dinner. Was he drunk right now? Buzzed? I stared into his eyes and saw the glossy hint in them, wondered if this was why he was being so bold, so… unlike himself.
He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, and then stepped back, as if he realized what he’d been doing. “I—I’m sorry.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “It’s the whiskey. I don’t really drink the hard stuff, but it was one hell of a day with the horses and trying to get the stables in order. I guess the alcohol went right to my head.” He lifted his arm and ran his hand over his hair, mussing the dark strands even more. “Sorry. That was highly inappropriate, crowding you like that.”
I felt my throat tighten and licked my lips. I didn’t know what to say. I was holding onto the counter behind me like it was a lifeline. In fact, I wanted to tell him to crowd me again.
But before I could make a fool of myself and say that, he said goodnight and left me standing alone in the kitchen and wanting nothing more than to go to him and beg him to fuck me.
God, this man was like a drug to me. My body was on autopilot, wanting him and knowing he was the only thing that could sate this fire inside me.
And with each passing day, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to deny myself being with him, to stop from throwing myself at Dalton and begging him to just give me what I wanted.
And that was him.
And as I stared after Dalton, I realized what I felt for him might not be rational, might even be fast and crazy, but it felt like it was right.
It felt like I was moving in the right direction.
I wanted more with this cowboy, but would giving myself over to Dalton be the right move? I was starting to finally feel stable in life, was saving up, trying to build myself up again. The thought of leaving Falls View seemed so… wrong.
The thought of never seeing Dalton again seemed abhorrent.
But if I gave myself to him, would he break my heart? Because as of right now, I was already falling for him, and I didn’t know if emotionally I could handle his rejection.
But on that note, I also knew I didn’t want to stop what was naturally happening. I wanted to see how far it would go.
Chapter Seven
Dalton
It had been two fucking weeks since I’d been working on the damn chicken coop and saw her dress fly up, since I told myself I’d keep things professional.
Fourteen days, I’d kept to that promise, kept my hands to myself, my dick in my pants, and acted like her employer, not a man totally head-over-heels for her.
But here I was, that self-control totally fucking unraveled, gone out the damn window. It had been hard the last two weeks, that little voice in the back of my head, that devil on my shoulder, whispering to just have her, claim her—fuck professionalism. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen her looking at me, the desire on her face, even though she thought she masked it.
She didn’t, just like I didn’t try to hide it.
But despite all that, I turned away from her, left Macey standing in the kitchen probably thinking I was fucking insane, crossing all the damn professional lines. I shouldn’t have had those shots of whiskey.
But with each I took, I found it harder to move away from her. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go to her, embrace her, pull her into my chest, and cup the back of her head so I could devour her mouth. And as I found myself right at my bedroom door, I looked over my shoulder and stared at the long hallway. God, I had to go to her.
I had to be with her.
It wasn’t the booze talking. It wasn’t the arousal pumping through my veins. I felt this pull, this connection to her as soon I’d seen Macey standing right outside my front door. And it had taken everything in me not to claim her then.
This might be the biggest fucking mistake, but I turned around and headed right back to her. But when I took the stairs two at a time, rounded the corner, I watched as she was striding right toward me, as if she’d been coming to me, as if she needed this too. I stopped, frozen. She did the same, both of us just staring at the other, the room hot, my body sweaty despite just showering.
I couldn’t stop myself from groaning at the sheer sight of Macey. God, she was beautiful. And when I heard her sharp inhale, saw the way her breathing changed, could see how hard her nipples were beneath her shirt, I found myself right in front of her a second later, cupping the back of her neck, holding her close to me. I’d been picturing doing this so many times over the weeks she’d been working here… living under the same roof as me.
I couldn’t let her go if my life depended on it.