Page 73 of Wylder Ranch
While he’s still all those things, he’s so much more. You barely have to scratch the surface to also see how kind, loving, and supportive he is.
Not to mention respectful.Frustratinglyrespectful.
We’ve done nothing but kiss since our middle-of-the-night liaison in the kitchen.
Kiss and kissand kiss.
But every time it feels like we’re about to pass first base, hands creeping under my shirt, inching toward my bra, Alex pulls back. And when the day is done, he walks me to my bedroom door and leaves me with a good night. It’s sweet, and sexy, and goddamnfrustrating.
I get it. It’s weird dating someone you live with, not to mention havea kidwith, but I’m unwittingly taking part in the world’s longest edging session, and I need it to be over.
Even now, with his big hand resting on my upper thigh as we drive over to Burlington, all I want to do is shuffle down in my seat so his fingers are firmly positioned between my legs.
It’s a testament to how impressive the wreaths are that they are being hung on the giant Burlington Hall entrance gates that my focus shifts from the back of his hand.
It’s taking five guys and one cherry picker to lower the first one into place. The other is laid on the back of a truck.
They must be at least ten feet wide each, tastefully decorated with holly and eucalyptus, dotted with small red berries, and finished with an enormous red bow.
I’ve never made anything that big in my store. I don’t even know how I would go about it. It wouldn’t fit through the door, for one.
“Holy shit.”
He nods. “My mother likes to go all out. Just wait.”
His eyes focus back on the driveway, and as we makeour way along, I notice the pressure of his fingers dig a little deeper into my thighs. His hand around the steering wheel is even tighter. It’s exactly how I look like when Saylor drags me to the roller coaster at the Adventure Park.
I fucking hate roller coasters. And I realize how selfish I am.
I haven’t noticed how quiet he’s been because all I’m thinking about is sex.
“Alex, pull over for a second.”
“What?”
“Stop the car.”
His brows drop, and his eyes flick to mine in concern, but he hits the brakes and cuts the engine. “What’s wrong?”
Swiveling in my seat, I turn to him, searching his face for any sign that he doesn’t want to be here. That he’s only doing this for me. But all I see is his blue eyes staring at me, wondering what the hellI’mdoing.
“When did you last decorate the tree?”
His cheeks puff, his shoulders drop like he’s been caught in a lie, and when his eyes find something out of the window to focus on instead of me, they fill.
His voice is quiet, hollow almost when he replies, “I was ten. The year before my dad died.”
My gasp is soft, but he hears it. I just hope he can’t hear my heart breaking for him too.
“I want to do this. For me, too. Ineedto do it.”
Turning his face back to mine, Alex’s stubble scratches under my palm. “Any time you want to go, say the word, and we go. Deal?”
“Haven—”
“I’m not kidding, Alex. The moment it gets too much, you tell me, and we’ll leave.”
His head moves until his lips line up with my palm, and he kisses it. “Thank you.”
