Page 117 of Tempting Wyatt
“Glad you like them,” I say, planning to use this to lead into my request that she extend her stay. I plan to ask for a week, then a month maybe, before I spring forever on her.
But before I can, she stands, turns to the front door and says over her shoulder, “Speaking of spectacular sights, if memory serves, a certain rancher promised to play strip poker with me.”
I laugh, realizing I laugh more with this woman than I probably ever have. “Can’t be over here breaking promises.”
We step inside, toeing off our boots in the mudroom.Before going to hunt up some playing cards, I stare at Ivy’s small boots next to my larger ones.
The sight does more to me than it should. Trying to shake it off, I offer her a drink.
She’s already pouring a glass of wine when I step into the kitchen.
“Make yourself at home,” I say, meaning it.
She smiles. “Already did. You want one?”
“Nah. I’m good.” I find the cards in my junk drawer and lead her to the living room.
Before we sit, she catches me off guard with a question. “What would you be if you weren’t a rancher?”
I contemplate this as I lower myself into the chair adjacent to her. Mostly because I haven’t thought about the answer to it since I was seven or eight years old and learned that it didn’t matter.
“When I was a kid, I thought I wanted to be a firefighter.”
“I could totally see that.”
I smirk at her. “And what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I’m twenty-six, you ass.”
She chucks one of the buffalo plaid throw pillows at me. I dodge it but snag it at the last second before it can fly into the fireplace. She covers her mouth when she realizes it almost met its fate by flames.
“Very adult of you,” I tease.
She laughs lightly, then shakes her head. “Just wanted to give you an opportunity to save something from the fire. Live out your childhood dream after all.”
“Nice. So writing, huh?”
She stretches her legs toward the warmth of the fireplace.
“As long as it pays the bills.” She glances around my house, a serene look on her face.
I built it myself a few years ago, with help from a contractor friend who owed me a favor. It’s not a mansion, but it’s a decent-sized dark-wood homestead with a wraparound porch and an outdoor dining and fire pit area just off the river’s edge. Despite being relatively close to the horses, it’s tucked well into the woods. Due to an abundance of windows, the living room and master bedroom still feel like being outside.
“I keep meaning to tell you that you have a beautiful home,” she says, returning her attention to me. “I mean, the entire ranch is amazing, obviously. But this,” she makes another visual sweep of the space and smiles, “is gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” Relief floods my chest. It’s only now that I realize I care so much about her approval of my house.
“I don’t know what I expected, but you’re so serious all the time. After the axe incident the day we met, I thought there’d be more dead animal heads on the walls.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Her eyes drop slowly, lingering on my chest. Then lower. “Nothing about you is disappointing, Wyatt Logan. Not a single, solitary thing.”
Heat hits me, and it’s not from the fireplace. It’s from knowing she saw my cock mere hours ago and rubbed herself against it like her life depended on it, and she wasn’t disappointed in the least bit. I was rough in the hot springs, not romantic. I have a feeling, when this heat between us becomes a raging inferno, I won’t be able to make sweet, slow love to her, like she deserves. I’ll fuck her hard while whispering all the dirty details in her ear about how tight and fucking perfect she feels wrapped around me.
With our size differential, she should be terrified. But the gleam in her eyes tells me my girl likes a challenge.
My mind wants to fight it, the thought of her being my girl.
