Page 84 of The Fiance Dilemma

But nope.

I’d kissed the man.

My fiancé.

Just a peck on the lips. A brush of my mouth against his.

And effectively shocked the bejesus out of him.

Because all Matthew did was stand there. Arms dangling. Looking all handsome, and tall, and ugh, so hot in that outfit I couldn’t get off my mind, but so very stunned. I wasn’t exaggerating. It’s not like my head had taken one tiny sign of surprise and run with it. For a moment, I’d been sure I’d broken him.

That my kiss had.

I glanced down at the screen of my phone. It wasn’t Page Nine for once. It was theSix Hills Herald.It had taken them a few days, but as Duncan had mentioned, they’d taken the opportunity to publish an article about Andrew and the party he’d thrown at the estate he was renting. I couldn’t figure out why my father’s presence in North Carolina, or the party he’d thrown for me and myfiancé, mattered, but it apparently did. Enough to fill what I was sure equated to several pages in the print edition. Along with more than a few pictures.

Among them, one of the impetuous kiss.

Because of course. How could that not end up there? The drama clearly loved me a little too much to miss out on the chance.

Was I a bad kisser? Had my breath been bad? Had I been the only one who’d felt that craving for his lips that night?

I locked my phone before I answered that and pushed it inside the pocket of my hoodie. Then I finally turned off the engine of the truck. I couldn’t stay parked here any longer than I’d already been. What if Matthew came out the door? Or peeked out the window? It’d look weird. Like I was a stalker, prowling Lazy Elk’s front yard.

I was stalking my fiancé. Thinking of ways I could attack him with my silly, disgusting lips.

I snorted at my own bitterness. Then I braced my hands on the steering wheel and said, out loud, just for me, “Get over it, Josie. So what if he didn’t like you kissing him? The guy gave you an orgasm. And that’s… relevant. Somehow.”

I made no sense, and maybe, just maybe, the kiss had broken me, not him.

I threw open the door of my truck, grabbed the tote bag I had filled to the brim, hung it off my shoulder, and exited the vehicle.

Something on the right side of the property caught my attention.

Something that moved quickly and was small. Somethingwith brown and white feathers.Sebastian?No. We’d returned the Vasquezes’ rooster to the farm. Months ago. For the seventh or eighth time after he’d escaped. But it was him. I was sure. I’d named the thing myself when it was nothing but a cockerel and I’d gotten him for the Vasquezes. As if in response, the runaway rooster cornered the cabin, head pecking and tiny chicken legs quick on the ground, moving past me.

Absolutely not,I thought. No.No.This was enough. If I could take control of something, it would be this. I’d see him back to the farm. I’d take him myself. There was so little in my control at the moment, but this was something I could do. A way to regain some sense of… balance. Power.

Without wasting more time, I dropped the bag on the ground and ran. Yes, I ran after Sebastian Stan. And dang, the rooster was wickedly fast.

Taking immediate notice of me, he doubled his pace with a loud cluck. But I was on a mission now, and I was going to see it succeed. So when he turned the next corner of the cabin, I followed him. And when he came to a slow stop, as if confused or distracted by something near a bush, I closed my hands around his sides and straightened up with a “HA!”

Victory, at last,I thought, turning around with a big vicious smile. Sebastian clucked in complaint, but this was our dance. This was our thing. He escaped and I retrieved him. He—

Something else was there. Someone.

My fiancé.

Shirtless. Skin glistening under the sun. Jumping rope. Wearing headphones over a backward hat.

A backward hat.

Matthew gripped the rope, making it skillfully fly over his head and under his feet. Head and feet. Head and feet. Arms strained. Muscles bunched. Mouth parted with quick puffs of air and facestrained. Jaw clenching and unclenching to the rhythm of the rope. There were indents, too. On his hips.

A droplet trickled down his stomach, and I just wanted to move closer. Get a better look. But his body came to a stop, distracting me from that. Muscles still pulsed and flexed and shone and did things muscles do when they are worked to their limit. I wondered how they’d look if…

“Josie?”

My head sprung up. Matthew was panting, looking at me.

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