Page 67 of Chasing the Wild
There’s no denying that I deserve all of her frustration and more.
I reach up to roughly grab her, lifting her by the waist and setting her on both feet, and she shoves against my chest. “Don’t touch me.”
There’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing between us, and the gentle clip of hooves and chuff of breath as the horses settle in their stalls.
“Get inside the house, Layla.” My throat tightens, and my jaw works overtime not to do the very thing that can’t be undone if I cross that line. Reluctantly, I let go of her hips and tug my gloves off one by one. Studying every facet of her face as if it’s the last time I might see this girl look my way.
Her green eyes are nearly glowing, with wisps of hair plastered against her wet cheeks from the melted snow. Those pouty lips of hers are stung a deep shade of dusky rose by the freezing temperatures, and my brain immediately connects that color with the sight of her hardened nipples.
“I’ll deal with the horses. Go.” I turn away—no, wrench myself away from her and start making work on Winnie’s tack. Trying to focus entirely on the horse in front of me, and not be lured into looking over to where Layla is still standing.
Fixating on getting these horses cared for is about the only thing holding me together right now.
I want her.
I want her so badly it aches.
Yet, she’s not mine to hold, or whisper to, or soak up her smiles.
It’s the most fucked up thing I could have ever done to let myself get even a taste of her. It’ll torment me for an eternity, and maybe that’s the devil’s bargain I’ve been cursed to endure living here on this mountain.
Alone.
I’ve had one taste of forbidden fruit, and now I’ll be trapped in my own private hell with the faintest dream of her whimpering into my mouth and melting for me as I rubbed over her soaking wet panties.
Fucking fuck.
For a moment, I run my palm over the horse’s long neck. Gathering myself, with head bowed to somewhere and somehow find it in myself to do therightthing. To be a good father. To notfuck up this girl’s life because I’m being a selfish bastard. To take a last, deep inhale before I go over to the other stall and repeat this process.
I give her a final pat before straightening up and turning around.
But I don’t even get five paces before I realize Layla is still here. She’s standing in the middle of the barn with a bridle in hand and her eyes narrow on me. Behind her, I see that she’s finished up while I’ve been lost in my head, and the horse in the stall behind her has already been taken care of.
“Thought I gave you an instruction.” I grind each syllable like it’s personally offended me.
She cocks her head ever so slightly to one side. “This is my job.” Stating it with that same ice queen tone as before.
It slices like a motherfucker, but I can’t help silently urging her to continue being like this. To forget about anything she might have found interesting in me and move on with her life.
“The job was to go inside.” Get warm. Get dry. Get away from me and my fucked up obsession. Leave me out here to drown in my vat of longing surrounded by the sweet notes of hay and self-hatred.
“No. You don’t get to ignore me for a whole week and then yell at me.” She glares back. Green eyes glowing with emotion. “You freeze me out every time. You did it that day I first came here. As soon as you found out who I was, you turned to ice. It’s the same thing now, and I know you’ll do it again.”
“Well, that’s who I am. Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t change.” The snarl is out of me before I can halt it.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve chosen to be that way, and you can choose differently.”
My heart pounds in an erratic rhythm. “I don’t know what you want from me, Layla.” How else am I supposed to survivethis? To deny this thing between us that shouldn’t happen? How the fuck am I supposed to survive her?
I stride over, fully intending to swipe the bridle from her hands, but Layla tries to pre-empt me. She attempts to turn around and head for the tack room herself, and I shoot a hand out to catch her elbow.
“Leave it.” I hear myself hiss the words through a clenched jaw. “Just go.”
Layla spins towards me, and our bodies collide. I’m still holding her arm and even though she’s glaring at me, there’s no attempt to try and shake me off this time.
“I said,” she thumps the heel of her palm against my shoulder, but the action is soft. Too soft. The way her hand sits over my chest is more like a caress. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
We’re tangled together in the middle of this storm, and instead of shoving me away, her fingers curl against the shell of my jacket.
