Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You think that I’m using you?”
He shakes his head. “Not using. I think you’re just in a situation, and things might feel right, but if you still had your farm and you still had your family, you wouldn’t be walking this path.”
I grip onto the edge of the dresser as his words tighten my throat. Is he right? Am I feeling what I’m feeling because of some kind of situational fog in my brain, or is it real?
“I wouldn’t have met you if I still had my farm and my family. I wouldn’t have gotten to know you all. I wouldn’t have been in a position to overhear what Cash wants. But that doesn’t mean that this isn’t right. It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel what I feel. It just means that fate would have had me walking a different path.”
“Well, maybe I’m fate,” Scott says. “Maybe what I’m telling you will set you on a different path now. Maybe you’ll thank me in a year when you’ve found somewhere new to go.”
“You don’t want me here?”
“Not like this.”
I can see him more clearly now. His eyes seem hollowed out with tiredness and with troubles. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair too tightly, making the tendons rise under his skin. We face each other, both breathing a little too fast, stuck in a stalemate. He might think that I’m not meant to be here, but I think it’s because he’s fearful of being on this journey with me. He’s pushing because it’s safer for him if I leave. He can keep his heart locked away from the perils of disappointment and broken trust.
“I want to be here,” I say softly. “There isn’t anywhere else that I want to be.”
“Maybe that’s true, but there are other places that you’d be better off. You’ve just got to try.”
“Or maybe you need to try,” I say, taking a step closer. “Maybe you need to find your way forward.”
“I’m moving forward,” he says gruffly. “This place takes everything I have to give.”
“Really?” I’m standing directly in front of him now, between his spread legs. I square my shoulders, allowing the fabric of the shirt to part. A thin line of my naked body is revealed to him. The space between my breasts, my navel, and my pussy, and he can’t help himself. Those inky eyes drop downward, taking everything in with enough intensity to scald.
“Don’t,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Don’t what?” I say innocently, widening my stance just a little. His chest heaves with a sharp inhale of breath.
“You don’t want to mess with me, Melanie. You deserve much better than this. Take yourself back to your room, and tomorrow, I’ll help you pack, and I’ll give you enough money to set you on your way. I’ll give you a get-out, and you’ll take it because none of this is real.”
A get-out. Money. He’s serious, and it hurts my heart.
I don’t want his money. I don’t want to be free to leave. I want these five hard ranchers to hold me tight and never let me go. How do I make this stubborn, wounded man see that?
“I don’t want your money, Scott. I don’t want you to help me pack. I don’t want to leave. This is where I want to be. I want to be with your brothers, and I want you.”
I bend, resting my hand on his thigh and his whips out, grasping my wrist tightly. “You’re too sweet, Melanie. Too innocent. You can’t know what this means, and when you finally wake up to it, you’ll be filled with regret.”
“I’m twenty-four years old, Scott. My momma was married and had me at my age. I’m old enough and clever enough to know my own mind, but you…you’re hiding behind your words. You’re scared to let anyone close to you, but I’m not giving up. I’m going to be here, and you can push me away. You can tell me to leave. You can ignore me and snub me and fight me all the way, but I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips crash into mine like a tsunami wave smashing into a rocky cliff face. Our teeth clink, and my eyes sting as his hand grasps my hair. His eyes are open as he breathes hard and out of control, trying to hold himself back. “This is wrong,” he hisses, but my hands don’t agree. They find his face and hold him tenderly. They stroke into the velvet of his close-cropped hair, and his eyelids droop.
“It’s not wrong, Scott,” I whisper against his lips. “It’s fate.”
The groan that fills the air doesn’t sound human. It’s wrenching and heartbreaking. It’s about pain and release and surrender, and then he’s pulling me onto his lap until I’m straddling him and pushing his face into my chest. His breath is so hot against my skin, his fingers bruising the flesh of my hips. “Why won’t you listen?” he says.