Page 4 of Filthy, Dirty, Cowboy

I pull her heels from the grate and Portia’s arms wrap around me. Our bodies press against one another as I lift her down. She’s thick and tight as her nipples poke against my chest, threatening my cock to rise. I try to push it away, think of anything else, but as she’s against me, it’s impossible. This is the sick and overwhelming feeling I’ve been having. The one where I know full well how inappropriate my feelings are, but I can’t stop them.

Our gaze meets, and as I settle her onto the floor, I hold on for a second too long… but so does she. A strand of hair has blown into her face, and I itch to move it, but stay still in fear of breaking whatever’s happening.

Up close, you can see her every amazing detail. Her eyes are blue with flecks of green and brown. Her face is soft and innocent. And when her mouth is shut, her lips are pink, pouty, and desperate to be sucked.

God. She should look away. I don’t have the strength to stop myself.

“I think my heels are ruined,” she finally says, swallowing down a visible lump in her throat as she looks down at the scuffed shoe.

“How much were they? Maybe you can write them off as a business expense.” I laugh.

“Five hundred dollars. They’re designer. I ordered them from New York as an early birthday gift. I wanted to look nice. If I get this deal, it’ll look great on my resume, and I really need a new job.”

I choke and my eyes widen, fixated on the price of the shoes. “Five hundred dollarson shoes?” The shock in my voice kills the mood that was brewing.

Her face twists. “Yeah, five hundred. I’m sure you’ve spent at least five hundred dollars on some truck accessory, so let’s not judge.” She twists away, straightening her blouse.

Technically, she’s not wrong. I just ordered a few undercover swing cases for the truck this week, and it cost well over five hundred. In my defense, though, a swing case is useable and saves space.

Portia makes her way to the barn door, and I call out, “You’re leaving?”

“That was the deal, right?” She pushes it open and steps out into the bright midday sun. “See ya around, country boy.”

Chapter Three

Portia

I need help. Major, life altering, brain reconstructing help. I stare out the kitchen window at the guys working on Mrs. Robinson's fence. There are nine of them. All big, strong, inked, and burly… but the only man I see is Hawk.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Mrs. Robinson sneaks up behind me. “Good boy, too. He’s always helping out around town. Do you two know each other?”

Is it that obvious I’m staring at him?I twist away from the window, immediately missing the sight of the man outside. “Who?Hawk?No. I wouldn’t say that.” I’ve tried too hard to hide my interest. Even I didn’t believe me.

Mrs. Robinson giggles. She’s a sweet old woman with curled silver hair she keeps twisted at the top of her head. “I’m a million years old, dear. I know when a woman likes a man.” Straight forward too, apparently.

I balk. “No. I don’t like Hawk. Trust me. We’d tear each other apart.”

The old woman smiles again and settles at the dining table next to the kitchen window where she’s set two cups of tea and a tray of biscuits. “That’s the start of it, dear. You pretend to hate each other despite the physical attraction, realize somewhere along the line that you have an emotional connection, and then the chemistry is too strong to deny. It’s exactly what happened with my husband and I, and we were married for five decades.”

I can’t imagine losing someone I’d spent that much of my life with. Hell, I can’t imagine spending that much of my life with anyone. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She reaches her paper-thin hand out toward mine. “Thank you, dear. He was a good man. Got on my nerves sometimes, but he never once raised his voice to me. He treated me like his queen. In turn, he was my king. Everyone deserves that kind of love. I miss him every day.” She pauses for a moment before brightening again. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and Hawk.”

I laugh and stuff a biscuit in my mouth, trying to avoid too much conversation. “There is no Hawk and I. We’re two very different people. And I’mone hundred percentsure he’s not into me.”

“But you are him?”

“No.” I sip from the pretty porcelain teacup she’s set out for me. It’s the old-fashioned kind with tiny pink flowers and a gold rim. “I’m not. Sure, I mean, he’s attractive. Who wouldn’t think that? Look at him.” I glance out the window again, watching as he lifts a heavy beam over his shoulder and stuffs it into the ground. His shoulders flex, his biceps curl, sweat drips from his chest… and my clit throbs. I’m a mess.

“Right. Well, your cheeks are red, sweetie.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “I appreciate what you’re saying. But trust me, I’ve dated attractive men before. That doesn’t mean anything. In fact, nowadays, if guys act like assholes… usually they’re assholes.”

Mrs. Robinson laughs. “Maybe, but I know for a fact Hawk isn’t one of them. Sure, he has trouble sharing his emotions, and I doubt he’s ever going to be the kind of guy that plans a candlelit dinner, but I guarantee that man will listen to you, hold you, respect you, value you, and work hard for his family. That’s what we all want, right?”

“How do you know him so well?”

She leans back in the wooden dining chair. “Oh, dear. You don’t know? Hawk went through the foster system as a kid. Awful situation for him. He lived out in the Springs and got traded around for most of his life. Waylon’s dad took him in when he was a teenager. He moved him out to the ranch and put him to work. I cared for him when they were busy, but that boy has felt like a son to me since the day we met. He brings by flowers once a week and he’s always the first to help with anything I need. Heck, he even sits with me for Sunday dinner since my husband passed.”

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