Page 55 of Burn the Wild

“Black?”

“Almond milk?”

He sighs wearily. “Really need to stop milking things.”

I hide a wan smile and move closer.

Ford returns from the fridge. “All I have is cream.”

“That works.” I reach for the coffee he sets in front of me and add a dollop of cream. “Honey?” I ask.

He squints at me. “In coffee?”

“It soothes the throat.”

While he searches in a cabinet, I scan his apartment. “Is this where you live?” I’m impressed. He has plants that are alive. Photos of his family. Baseball memorabilia. A leather couch. Sparse, but it’s clean. Lived in. Just like those gray sweatpants.

“Above the garage,” he grunts, running a hand through his thick lionlike hair. “It’s not much. All my brothers are on the ranch. This is just as good.”

“I like the smell.”

He jerks up his chin. “You do?”

“I do. It’s better than my penthouse. It’s homey.”

He returns to me, his eyes meeting mine. “Here, honey. Honey.” He holds out the honey bear and I take it, our fingers sweeping against each other. The briefest touch shouldn’t make me ache, but it does.

As I add a drizzle of honey to my coffee, my gaze shifts to Ford. His body reminds me of a mountain cat—long, sleek, and athletic, with golden skin.

I should hate Ford. But after last night, I can’t. It’s been a long time since someone genuinely cared about my actions without using it against me or asking for something.

Moving back to the burner, he lifts the pan, dumping eggs onto a plate. After adding two strips of bacon, he points at the chair. “Sit.”

Cupping my hands around the coffee mug, I take it to a small, round table.

My eyes widen in surprise when he sets the food in front of me. “I want you to eat,” he says, handing me a fork. “It’ll take the edge off your hangover.”

I give him a smile, fighting the sting in my eyes. God, the last person to make me breakfast was probably…my mom.

That triggers more snippets of last night to fill my mind. Telling Ford about my parents and our band. Being given up and then, taken in by Gavin. My long ramble about feeling unwanted. All memories I hate talking about when I’m sober, let alone drunk.

I bite my lip. “Listen…about last night. I probably said more than I should have about my parents. My manager. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

There’s a quick flash of worry in his eye. “Why?”

Because it’s my past, I want to say.And I hate my past. It’s a blur. It’s painful. It’s just too much me.

I pick at the eggs, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s shit that I don’t want in the papers.”

“You don’t have to worry.” A mischievous gleam fills his eyes. “Runaway Ranch has a way of keeping your secrets.”

Then I’m at the perfect place. Except for Gavin, no one knows about what happened to me. He said it would be bad for my image, that it would make me look crazier than I already am. How can I trust anyone with my past when they’d only use it against me?

“Reese?” I jerk out of my thoughts as Ford nudges the plate toward me. “I want you to eat.”

I flinch when I see his busted knuckles.

“I’m sorry about your hand,” I say softly, tucking a lock of hair behind my hair.

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