Page 79 of Chasing the Wild
‘Gone to take care of the stock. Consider this an official day off, especially since your demanding boss kept you up all night.’
Forget trying to keep my cool. Colton Wilder flirting with me over cute handwritten notes left beside my pillow in the morning… that’s my goddamn weak spot, right there.
I check the time. Shit, it’s already 10 a.m.
No wonder he needed to go take care of things around the ranch. Here I’ve been lazing in bed, while he’s gone off braving the snow and cold. Part of me feels insanely guilty, but after the way last night took such an unexpected turn, maybe this is his way of giving himself a little space. An opportunity to gain a clear head.
God, I hope he’s not having second thoughts. My stomach quickly knots itself at the idea he might be wanting some time tothinkand come to the inevitable conclusion that falling into bed together was a massive fucking mistake.
Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I decide now is not the time to start overanalyzing. Last night was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had. Even if it was a one-time-only thing—the mere thought of which just about makes me whimper like a pathetic fool—there’s no denying our chemistry.
Everything was perfect and scandalously hot.
A girl can only dream of being indulged so expertly by a cowboy sex god.
Once I’ve found a towel and padded back to my own room, I make quick work of showering, pulling on some leggings that do wonderful things for my ass paired with a cropped sweater I can always count on to make me feel cute as hell. Taming my wild hair is out of the question, so I settle on a stylishly messy bun.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I can hardly believe how far and fast things have changed since last night. My cheeks heat at the thought of seeing Colt for the first time… but even though I’m nervous, there’s also excitement zooming around behind my ribs.
I’m all giddy over a certain cowboy who is nearly twice my age and my ex-boyfriend’s father.
Holy shit, who am I, and what did I do with Layla Birch—good girl ranch hand?
As the promise of coffee and food lures me toward the kitchen, I can hear the sizzling of a pan and there’s a mouth-watering smell of bacon drifting to greet me.
But, the moment I spy his broad shoulders from the back, my nerves kick up.
How does this work? Am I allowed to go up to him and kiss him? Do we kiss? Outside of sex and getting naked and being out of our minds for each other, how do I treat this cowboy?
Colt turns around with the pan, and his expression doesn’t really tell me anything. Last night, when we shared our bowl of reheated macaroni and he stood right there at the kitchen island between my knees, he was flirty and more seductive than can be good for my health.
Here, now, in the mid-morning light, he’s standing on the far side of the bench looking like he wants to melt the cup of coffee in front of him with the powers of the mind.
“Hey.” I wander over to the pot he’s already made. While my eyes feel like they’re hanging out of my head, in desperate need of said caffeine, I’m also more than a little uncertain of how we dothispart.Busying myself with pouring a mug, a glance confirms that he already has his own, so I retreat around the other side of the counter and slide onto the closest stool.
This man is unreadable at the best of times, and while I’m not going to tolerate poor behavior from him, I also have compassion for the fact that what we did would be a lot for him to process.
Fuck my life for being such a goddamn empath all the time.
There’s no turning that sucker off.
“Thanks for letting me sleep… I could have come and given you a hand.” I fiddle with the cuff of my sweater as I watch him fix a plate. An empty one sits beside the sink; his own breakfast already eaten.
“It was only feeding out, easy enough to do on my own.” He doesn’t really look at me, and I’m shifting around uncomfortably in my chair.
I could have sworn the note he left beside the bed for me was playful, a little flirtatious even. So why is he looking like he wants to hurl the frying pan across the kitchen?
Maybe I read it all wrong between us.
“Colt… if you need…” I barely get the words out before he cuts me off.
“Layla.” My plate gets slid across to me, loaded with bacon and a couple of fried eggs, and smelling all kinds of delicious. Except, the man in question hovers and then leans forward, bracing himself on the countertop with his fists.
Goddammit, at this rate, I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
This is it.
This is the moment he tells me it was all a bad idea, a terrible idea even, and that he’s going to pack me off on a horse down the mountain.
