Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy #2) - Vanessa Vale Page 0,12
tell me I’d been a bad boy for talking in class and shut me up the only way she knew how—by sliding up the hem of that pencil skirt, climbing in my lap and taking me for a ride.
Fuck. I got a hard on just watching her unlock her car. That was something that had never happened to me before while jumping rope.
No, she wasn’t stuffy. No fucking way.
Gray came over, followed the direction of my staring and glanced out the window. While he might be my trainer and made me suffer on a daily basis, he worked out with me every morning. We’d already run our usual three-mile circuit on the streets, done a few rounds in the ring, and I was cooling down with thirty minutes of jump rope. It was mindless, so I couldn’t think of a better way to make the time pass than to watch my sexy neighbor leave for work.
The pizza had worked out well the night before. Besides it being low key and easy for Emory since she’d worked in the ER all day, it had given me the chance to talk with Harper alone. Taking her with me to pick up the order had made it casual. No expectations. But when she’d put on my coat and I saw how damn small she was in comparison to me, every protective instinct I had came out. I wanted to wipe away all her fear, to keep her safe, even from elevators or whatever the fuck happened to her to make her so damned scared of them.
With Gray and Emory, Harper had been funny and witty and relaxed as we all talked, but she didn’t come out and say why she was afraid of elevators. Not that I’d expected her to, but it would have explained a lot. Claustrophobia? Trapped once? Free fall?
At first, I’d assumed it was a lie, a lie to hide the fact that she really was scared of me. But as we’d walked to the pizza place, I hadn’t seen a hint of fear in her eyes. If she really was afraid of me, she’d have bolted again, not let me put my hand on the small of her back as we walked down the street. No, I’d seen surprise and interest instead. That interest, that spark of heat had me feeling, shit, something. She was gorgeous. She turned heads, especially mine, which was a fucking problem. Yeah, I wanted to get in her pants. Half the guys in the gym probably did after seeing her in those running shorts.
But that wasn’t it. She was interesting and quirky. Who the hell got a doctorate in some obscure art topic? I wanted to know how she liked her coffee, whether she liked the beach or the mountains and whether she preferred satin or lace.
She wasn’t the kind of girl to fuck and forget. She was more, and that was bad. I didn’t want more.
Hell, even if I did, I couldn’t. I was wrong for her. A bad choice. A dead end. If she knew my past, she’d all but sprint away from me. She was smart as fuck, gorgeous and deserved the whole two and a half kids and the dog and the picket fence shit. She deserved everything. And I was nothing.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t look and couldn’t wonder, couldn’t imagine pressing her over the hood of her car and sliding into her hot pussy. I groaned at the thought then quickly hid that sound from Gray with a cough.
She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and climbed in, started her car.
“What's up with Harper?” I asked, lifting my chin in her direction. I was breathing hard but even. I wasn’t too worn down that I couldn’t hold a conversation as I kept pace. Sweat dripped down my temples, and there was no way I could wipe it away. I had my rhythm, the plastic rope clacking on the concrete floor.
Gray shrugged, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He wore his usual T-shirt—stained with sweat—and fighter shorts, plus his running shoes. No one would know by looking at him in the gym he preferred snap shirts and cowboy hats. After a quick head tilt to the guy who came through the door, he replied, “Emory won't say.”
This answer meant he, too, knew something was up. I hadn’t told him about the elevator freak out.
While I appreciated Emory’s ability to keep secrets like a bank vault, it