Page 2 of Stalked By the Rancher

"Okay...Sawyer." She says my name like it's something new, something exciting. And I can't help but want to hear it again and again.

"Let me show you around," I suggest, because standing here ain't doing any good to the pounding of my heart or the heat pooling low in my stomach.

As we walk, I steal glances at her when I think she won't notice. But who am I kidding? I'm about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. There's this pull, this goddamn magnetic force that's got my insides twisting up every time I look at her. I'm drawn to her, like I've been wandering in the dark and she's the first damn light I've seen in ages.

"Beautiful place you have here," Nora comments, her gaze sweeping over the acres of land.

"Thanks. It's my life's work." I puff up a bit, pride swelling in my chest as I watch her take it all in.

"Seems like a lot for one person," she observes, and there it is—she sees it, the loneliness I’ve got penned up inside.

"Sometimes it is," I admit, maybe too honestly.

"Well, maybe my dad and I can make it a little less so," she says, and the hope in her words is like a match to kindling.

"Maybe," I agree, voice rough with a desire I'm not supposed to feel.

Not this fast, not this fierce.

Not for a girl who looks like she’s still in high school.

How old is she anyway?

Edward answers my unspoken question when he brags on his daughter, “Yeah, Nora’s a senior in high school, and I thought getting some real-world experience would do her a world of good. She might only be eighteen, but she’s a hard worker, my girl,” he states proudly.

Eight-fucking-teen.

Goddamn it.

I feel like a pervert.

But then my eyes stray back over those long legs, that shapely ass, like a ripe little peach.

Fuuuck.

My breathing becomes ragged, and I feel my cock growing in my jeans.

Focus. The last thing I need is to be getting a hard-on for her right in front of her father.

I lead her and Edward through the stables, showing them where everything is and what I expect. Edward is very talkative, and I’m thankful to let him carry the conversation. The cat’s got my tongue ‘cause I can focus on is his daughter.

Every move she makes, every flutter of those long lashes, sends a jolt straight through me. It's like I'm a teen again, all hormones and heartbeats.

We finish the tour, and I'm already making plans to see her again, sooner rather than later. I'm consumed by her, by the idea of her—this young, beautiful creature who's stepped into my solitary world and turned it upside down. I want her, more than I've wanted anything in a long damn time.

* * *

I'm out in the fields, wrench in hand, when I see her again.

Nora.

She's hauling a bucket to the horses, and hell, that sight does things to me I can't even name. A voice in my head tells me to step back, cool down, but my feet have other plans. They're taking me straight to her.

"Need a hand with that?" I ask, voice rough like gravel, as I reach her side.

She looks up, all big green eyes and innocence. "I've got it, but thanks."

I take the bucket anyway, our fingers brushing, and damn if that touch doesn't shoot straight through me. I tell myself to play it cool.

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