Page 3 of Farmer's Elegant Bride

I resist the urge to apologize for my appearance, knowing she likely didn’t expect me to welcome her dressed in a tank top. But it is what it is, and I push aside my insecurities, focusing instead on making her feel welcome.

As I busy myself with making her tea, I keep my back to her, unable to bring myself to look at her without the risk of getting lost in her gaze again. “Would you like a tour of the house?” I ask as I hand her a cup of chamomile tea, our fingers slightly brushing, sending sparks through my body.

“Yes, thanks.” Aurora nods, a shy smile on her lips.

I watch as she sips her tea, wishing my lips were on hers instead of the teacup. The desire to hold her, to feel her lips against mine, threatens to overwhelm me.

“We can have the tour while I sip my tea,’’ she suggests, her shy smile tugging at my heartstrings. “I promise not to spill on your floor.”

I should return her smile, but I respond with a groan and a curt nod instead. What is wrong with me?

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she murmurs behind me as I lead her into the study.

“There are books here if you feel like reading,” I say, pointing to the shelf stacked with books, ignoring her question.

As we move through the rest of the house, I show her the various rooms with a detached air, my responses terse and unyielding. Internally, I curse myself for my rudeness, for the walls I erect to keep her at arm’s length. She deserves better than this, deserves more than the cold indifference I’ve shown her.

“You have a beautiful home,” she says, her voice soft with genuine admiration as we come to the end of the tour.

“Thanks. I’ll be heading back to finish up with the fence,” I reply briefly, feeling a pang of guilt for my behavior. I scribble out my cell number on a piece of paper and hand it to her. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Will you be out there long?”

“Yeah, I still have a lot to do.” Lies, I’m done mending the fence. But I need to keep a safe distance from her, from the feelings she stirs within me.

I don’t wait for her response before I turn around and almost run out of the house, the weight of my conflicted emotions heavy on my shoulders. Am I going to avoid her for the rest of the weekend? I have no idea.

Chapter Three

Aurora

I spend the rest of the evening unpacking the few things I came with and then go over to the study. While Levi was giving me a tour of the study, I caught sight of some books I wanted to read.

I’m greeted by the sight of towering bookshelves lining the walls at the extreme as I step into the room, each one filled with several books. As I approach the books, my eyes drift to the desk in the middle of the room adorned with scattered ledgers and a computer. Levi mentioned doing his books himself. He is indeed a man of many talents.

The scent of old paper and leather bindings wafts through my nostrils. The smell is rich and earthy, tinged with nostalgia, evoking memories of my childhood days spent lost in the pages of my favorite stories. I have always enjoyed reading since I was a kid. It served as a means of escape from Mom and her unending nagging.

Mom constantly nagged, and it became worse after Dad’s death. He died of a heart attack when I was ten. I was closer to him than Mom, and since his death, I felt very lonely. Losing him left a void in my life.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the smooth texture beneath my touch. They’re arranged in alphabetical order according to the authors, showing how meticulous Levi is.

It’s both nice and a little scary. What if he gets angry at me for messing with his meticulously arranged books? But he said I could come here and read anytime I wanted. My fingers stop on a book about cows. I pull it out; the leather binding is soft and supple, worn smooth by years of usage. I flip through the book without actually reading.

There are several other books on farming on different shelves, along with a few novels by Sydney Sheldon and Hadley Chase. I settle for Sydney Sheldon’s novel.

I’m seated on the floor, my back resting against one of the shelves, neck deep in the novel, when I hear footsteps in the study. I raise my head to find Levi, his large frame towering above me. The whiff of his cologne assaults my nostrils, a rich blend of woodiness and musk.

His damp hair and changed attire—a pair of gray sweatpants and a black polo—suggest he just showered. The fabric clings to his body, accentuating his ripped muscles. I can no longer see his chest scar underneath his shirt, and I catch myself on the verge of asking him to remove his shirt so I can run my fingers along it. My fingers itch to touch the one on his face.

Do I have a scar fetish? I shake my head, trying to get such thoughts out. “Uh...” I open my mouth and shut it again because I’ve suddenly lost my voice. I open it again, clearing my throat. “I…” I raise the book I’m holding. “I was just reading…” Why is he looking at me like that? Like he’s trying to decide what to do with me.

He nods slowly. “I was about to make dinner,” he says, finally breaking the tension while still giving me that piercing look. “I wanted to know if you wanted anything in particular?”

His question catches me off guard, and I’m at a loss for words for a moment.

“Um, anything you’re making would be great,” I reply, offering him a tentative smile.

“Sweet potato fries and steak sound good?” he asks, unmoving, his gaze trained on mine, holding me captive.

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