Page 19 of Rodeo Cowboy
My resolve dips a dash.
“Hell, no.” I straighten. “Icanface Sammy. I was his boss, for crying out loud,” I mutter as I scurry across the kitchen and pull the curtain aside.
It’s not Sammy. Truck after truck parks alongside, and the Wilde family begins barreling out.
“Hell, no.” I spin and race down the hallway. I can’t face his whole family again. They’re big and loud and—I don’t want to.
Where the hell is Sammy?
I shut the bedroom door and peel off my pajamas between grabbing my clothes. I clip on my bra and then pause. I need to get back into bed and feign sleep. He wouldn’t dare wake me up after last night. I jump into bed and then realize I’ve left the light on.
“Shit!” I throw off the sheets and crawl to the far end of the bed. I climb onto the log footboard, intending to hop over it when the door swings open. Sammy barges in. His eyes grow wide at the sight before him. I’m stripped down to my panties and bra, playing Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.
“Sammy! What the hell!” I attempt to cover myself. Or spin away from him—instead, my foot slips, arms flail, and balance veers.
In a split second, my body lurches forward. It feels like slow motion as I desperately try to regain my balance. It’s no use. I land on the floor. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and pain shoots up my body.
I hear Sammy’s footsteps approach. I want to shout and scream at him to get away, but I’m dizzy and in pain, trying to catch my breath.
He kneels beside me. “I got you.” His soothing, gentle voice is the same one he uses for the animals. He’s got this whole other soft side for them.
His strong arm wraps around me and gently places me into a sitting position against the footboard.
“Ayla, where are you hurt?” His voice is laced with concern.
I wince when I try to move my leg.
Sammy’s warm hands are everywhere. On my arms, my legs, and tilting up my chin to check for signs of injury. His fingers run over my skin for a brief second, and I forget about my anger. Last night's fight vanishes, and flashes of the steamy dreams I ignored all morning slam into the forefront of my mind.
The bounty of corded muscles.
His colorfully inked back.
The way his narrow waist dips into his visibly V muscle or his naked body slamming me against every surface while making sweet and rough lovin’ at the same time.
Fuck me.
The sheets I slept in didn’t help. Laced in his masculine scent of cedarwood and musk, it made it impossible not to think about him.
“Ayla, are you okay?” His voice slashes my desires.
“No, I’m not okay. I just fell off the bed because you burst in here like a bull in a china shop.”
I rub the ankle I landed on.
“Is it your ankle? Let me see.” Sammy gently lifts my leg onto his lap to inspect it. His hands cup my calf and bring back all the feels.
What is wrong with me? Likely something about our link and green auras. Last night was proof this man is toxic, but I’m so damn drawn to him.
“Can you move it?”
“Yes.”
His gaze slants to meet mine when I don’t wiggle my ankle. There’s almost a smirk on his ordinarily sullen lips. Lips I can still feel, tracing my skin from my vivid dreams. Which I suppose are better than the nightmares that have plagued me for months.
“Can you move it for me right now? Up and down.” I follow his orders, and his gaze drops to watch. “Good. Now, side to side.” His deep voice is as smooth as bourbon, with a drawl that carries a hint of sweetness.
I watch his other hand skim the skin around and over my ankle. Each soft touch is electric. Every tender motion does something loopy to my head.
