Page 29 of Chasing the Wild
I’ve never had such a nice bathroom in my life.
On my list to ask Colt tomorrow, if he’s in a talking mood, is whether or not I’m allowed to run the bath. I’m hesitant to use it without knowing his rules about conserving water during winter storms up here. Reaching into the shower, I flip the water on and quickly get undressed. The stream from the detachable head pummels my aching muscles, and I groan at how good it feels to wash off the day of sweat and horses and the run-in with Henrik slimeball Pierson.
God, no one has ever protected me the way Colt did, and I think he somehow altered my brain chemistry. I’ve never been attracted to the idea of being someone’s possession before, butthe way he guarded me and threatened that prick…fuck. It was super hot, and even just thinking about it again now, I can feel the slickness between my thighs. There’s a tension winding low in my core. What is a girl to do in the face of so much testosterone?
Especially when no good can come of allowing these thoughts to spill over into reality. I need to keep this job, and I need to not fuck things up between him and Kayce.
I slap the shower off and get out. More than a little turned on.
Why is it so hard to stop thinking about him when I know I shouldn’t? It’s like my pussy has been hijacked by a cowboy twice my age, and she refuses to calm the hell down.
I wrap myself in a giant man-sized fluffy towel and pad over to my suitcase lying open on the floor. For whatever reason, I still haven’t unpacked my things. I’m in limbo where instinct and past experience tells me I should be ready to hit the road at any second.
To be prepared for the moment the roads are clear and my boss decides I’m not worth the hassle of keeping around.
In spite of all my anxieties and misgivings, my room is warm and cozy, overlooking the porch and snow-covered vista that glows with a luminous white sheen. A quarter moon hangs low in the sky, casting an eerie silver glint across one side of Devil’s Peak.
Slipping into my comfiest sleep shorts and soft cotton cami, I toss the covers back and go to climb into bed, realizing with a groan as my ass hits the mattress that my Kindle isn’t on the bedside table. After a quick scan around the room, it hits me. I remember leaving it down in the lounge this morning.
Fuck’s sake. Tilting my chin to the ceiling, a gurgled noise of frustration comes out. I’m so tired, and cannot be bothered having to get redressed just to go a few feet down the hall to the lounge.
I creep over to my door and open it a crack, listening for where Colt is in the house. But everything outside my door is dark and blanketed in a heavy silence.
He must have gone to bed while I was in the shower because I can’t hear anything and none of the lights are on. So I creep quietly down to the lounge on bare feet.
When I get there, I spot my Kindle lying on the coffee table straight away and snatch it up, preparing to spin on my heel. Only, goosebumps erupt across my bare skin when it dawns on me that I’m being watched.
Looking up, I see Colt sitting in one of the large armchairs beside the glowing embers of the fire. With knees splayed wide, he fills out the leather seat like it’s a throne.
His handsome features are lovingly stroked by the long shadows of the room. As he takes a long swig from his beer, my entire body clenches, all while his hooded eyes remain locked on my figure.
“You gave me a fright.” My voice comes out more than a little breathy.
He shifts his knees a little wider but doesn’t say anything. Just rubs his thumb along the neck of the amber bottle as he rests it on one thigh.
“Is everything ok?” The air swirls with tension. He’s sitting down here with only the dark for company, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve intruded on something.
My bare toes curl into the carpet, and instantly, I’m very, very aware of my appearance. The way these tiny shorts barely cover my ass or my pussy. How my thin-strapped cami scoops low and shows off an expanse of cleavage. The way my nipples are hard and rub against the wafer-thin fabric every time I shift my weight.
“How old are you, Layla?” His voice is deep and alluring and tortured all at once.
“Twenty-five.” I hear myself say the words barely above a whisper.
He studies me in silence, and I can’t move. Or maybe I don’t want to. Did that please him to hear my age, or make him madder with me? Does it piss him off that I’m young in years, even though I feel like I’ve lived more in my two decades than most people do in a lifetime?
There’s a part of me that wants to hide, because Colton Wilder is a force of nature that shouldn’t be messed with. But there’s a more dangerous and demanding part calling to me from the deep.
I want this man to see me.
Burnt orange embers smolder in the fireplace while Colt takes another long drink from his beer, and I feel my body ache and plead for attention.
Through the darkness he’s fixated on me, arresting me with that stern gaze. He’s looking at me with the kind of voracious appetite that only means one thing.
This man desires what he sees.
Would he ever cross that invisible line to take what he wants? I don’t know, but one thing I’m certain of, is that the longer I stand here, the more we’re both tiptoeing toward the edge of something forbidden.
My chest rises and falls, breasts feeling heavy and full as his eyes continue to roam freely, dragging across my body, leaving a trail of crackling sparks beneath my skin in their wake.
