Page 39 of Braving the Storm
And more than anything, I have to admit the glaringly obvious reality.
I might have wanted him to go away before.
Yet the truth is, I wish he had joined me.
Chapter 13
“Wait here, I’ve gotta fetch some sandpaper, then the last stop is to grab the paint.”
Sneaking a look at my uncle as he disappears off down the aisle of the hardware store, I do my utmost best not to stare at his ass inside those perfectly fitted wranglers.
I fail miserably.
This store seems to be relatively deserted at this time of the afternoon, so I don’t think anyone saw my eyes linger on the sight of him walking away. But even so, I’ve got to quit this unhealthy obsession with a man who is entirely off-limits.
Ignoring our complicated family dynamic, he’s fourteen years older than me. Not that I’m counting or fixating on tiny details like that or anything. Why am I even spending time working that kind of thing out in my head? What does our difference in age matter when the man is myuncle? He’s someone who I absolutely cannot, and should not, desire.
Yet, here I am. Far too enamored with this muscular, tattooed, farrier-come-ranch handyman, who wears a pair of chaps like God hand-selected them just for him.
I bend over and rest my forehead against the handle of the cart, barely restraining myself from letting out a wail of frustration.What is this hellscape of temptation I’ve wandered into? Standing in the middle of aisle five, surrounded by nails and screws, meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about the man who I now share an impossibly small bed with.
Even though that first night was so he could make sure my concussion didn’t worsen, it naturally evolved into an unspoken agreement that he needed to keep an eye on me the next night, so we’d carry on sharing the bedroom. Then, the night after that.
His room.
His bed.
Now, I’m right in the thick of a nightly cycle with a cowboy who invariably finds his way to be wrapped around me. When I wake up, I’m encased in his arms. No matter how hard I try to escape to the very edge of the mattress in a half-hearted attempt to put distance between us, both nights now, it’s happened without any say on my part.
The budding secret I’m harboring is that I eat up every single occasion, even though it’s only been two additional nights. I’m more than addicted to opening my eyes before dawn and feeling the delicious weight of his forearm banded around my waist, along my body, both times cupping over my shorts again like that first night.
He seems to sleep so heavily, probably making up for that week-long agony of being on the couch, that I don’t know if he even realizes what has been happening while he slumbers. I’ve long disappeared from the bed before there’s ever any sign of him stirring.
I know it can’t go on, but I’m also too greedy for whatever this is to put any effort into coming up with an alternative solution to our sleeping arrangement.
Because you’re being a needy, touch-starved little slut for your uncle.
Scrunching my eyes shut, I clench my fingers tighter around the handle of the cart.
As I’m busy judging myself for all my messed-up daydreams, my bag slung across my body vibrates with an incoming call. Itstartles me out of my haze. I've gotten so used to being either at the cabin or Devil’s Peak Ranch, blissfully without cell reception; I had completely forgotten that down here in town, we would be somewhat reconnected with the outside world.
The vibrations stop, but I know that won’t be the end of it. On cue, they start up again, the buzzing drone vibrating through my cross-body purse.
Letting out a frustrated huff, I dig out my phone—sure enough,Crispinflashes across my screen. My grip tightens as I stare at it ringing until she eventually gets the hint and hangs up.
I’m just about to put it back in my bag, when it starts vibrating again in my hand. This time,unknownshows on the display.
While I’ve blocked my ex on everything, I could put money on the fact it’s him trying to call.
“You gonna answer that, or just stare at it?” My uncle’s voice cuts through my blank state, and I quickly hit decline with my thumb.
“Unknown number.” I shrug, but before I can stuff my phone away, it starts up again with another attempted call.
“Looks like someone’s mighty interested in getting hold of you.” He tosses the sheets of sandpaper into the cart.
“It’s not important.” Declining the call, again, I plaster on a smile. “What did you say we needed to pick up next? Paint?” I go to push the cart forward, then wince as it starts vibrating, this time even louder because it’s still clutched in my hand and pressed against the hard plastic handle.
“Sounds like it might be important.” The wall of man at my side flicks his eyes between my phone and back to me. His steely blue gaze is unreadable. “There something going on that you need to talk about?”
