Page 31 of Cruelest Contract
My hair is still damp and I run my fingers through it quickly, feeling so self-conscious I might as well be naked.
I’ve barely cracked open the door a couple of inches when a cowboy boot pushes its way into the room. The boot is attached to a grinning Tye Tempesta, who slides all the way in and promptly runs his eyes over my body.
“Hot look,” he says. “The glasses really do it for me. How’d you know I have a librarian kink? Why weren’t you wearing them yesterday?”
“I usually wear contacts. You’ve heard of contacts, right?”
“Sure.” He plops down on the bed so hard the mattress bounces. He looks at the folded coral pink blanket and picks it up at the edge. “What the fuck is this thing made of?”
I sigh loudly. “It’s a weighted blanket and it’s filled with tiny glass beads.”
He loses interest and drops it. “So what have you been doing in here all morning?”
“It’s eight thirty. The morning isn’t exactly over,” I say, watching as Fort strolls into the room next. He’s got a large shoebox tucked under one arm.
“For you.” Fort drops the box on the desk.
My face turns flaming hot as I realize I left my journal sitting open. All Fort needs to do is look down and he’ll see his older brother’s name written in very bold writing. I kept tracing the letters with my pen while brooding.
Oh, and at some point I dotted the ‘i’ in Julian with a heart.A FUCKING HEART!
“What’s with the box?” I ask, relieved when Fort steps away from the desk before he catches a glimpse of some damning evidence.
My relief doesn’t last. He barrels in this direction, almost like he intends to crash into me. I’m startled enough to take a step backwards. My bare foot knocks over an empty trash bin.
Fort skids to a halt. We’re standing absurdly close. The mocking smirk on his face makes him look too much like Getty. Suddenly, I have my doubts that he’s as harmless as I initially thought.
“Open it up and see for yourself,” Fort stares down at me. He smells like the outdoors and the brown cowboy hat on his head shows a film of dust.
Tye hasn’t left his perch on the bed. His knees are planted wide apart and he props his elbows on his thighs as he watches us with obvious delight. The white t-shirt he wears barely stretches over his muscles and I see evidence of a tattoo on his left bicep.
They’ve come here alone. The door is wide open and the hallway is empty. At least Getty is nowhere in sight. But Julian isn’t here either.
Fort won’t move but he allows me to step around him. I pry the top off the shoebox and let out a gasp. Though I’ve never been a fan of cowboy boots, the ones in the box could have been personally designed just for me. The buttery brown leather on the bottom contrasts beautifully with the magenta shaft adorned with artfully embroidered flower shapes. If someone were to turn me loose in a boot store and order me to choose a pair, I would run to these. I’m surprised to see they are exactly my size.
“They’re beautiful,” I breathe, my fingertips tracing the intricate stitching. “Thank you.”
“Julian’s idea,” Fort says. “He figured you wouldn’t have any durable footwear.”
“Julian picked these out?” I ask with a peculiar tickle of pleasure in my belly.
Fort shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Go ahead and get dressed,” Tye says. He leans forward and his eyes gleam. “We’ll stay and tell you if you’re really ranch wife material.”
There’s an unmistakable sexual nuance in his voice. I’m mulling over a response that’s a little more diplomatic than “Go fuck yourself” when there’s a ruckus from beneath the bed.
A ball of grey fur streaks out the open door.
“Shit,” Tye says. “Mel needs to know there’s a mouse on the loose.”
“That’s a cat,” Fort corrects him.
“No, it’s not,” Tye says.
“Yeah, it is,” Fort argues.
“I know a mouse when I see one.”
