her room. I shoved down the irritation that she was asleep in the spare bedroom rather than in my own bed because the frustration was irrational.
She’s keeping her distance like I should be. I never should’ve offered the horseback ride. Or at minimum, I should’ve saddled up her own damn horse, but I’m a selfish bastard, and the time she spent in my arms last night wasn’t enough. It was better than I imagined when I pictured curling around her in the hotel suite. The images in my head didn’t give justice to the warmth of her body or her soft curves.
I escaped to my bedroom much the same way she did after jumping down from Sweet Pea, but something upset her at the stream, and that’s on me. I could’ve asked what was wrong, but I’m an idiot, one that likes to solve my own damn problems and assumed she’s the same. Clearly it was a mistake because I fucked up, and I don’t have a clue how.
I spent the entire day in the barn, skipping lunch because I’m a coward who knows how hard it would be to keep my damn hands to myself if I went inside.
The rumble of my stomach and the prospect of eating more chicken and dumplings eventually win out over staying out of the house until I get more information from Wren. A couple of days between waves of intel isn’t a new thing. Sometimes it takes weeks to build a case before we’re able to make a move with certainty, but the minutes just seem to be crawling by.
It’s a special kind of torture finding a gorgeous, albeit untouchable woman, standing barefoot in my kitchen. Anna doesn’t look over her shoulder when I pause in the doorway and take her in. Tendrils of hair have escaped the pile on top of her head which is all kinds of sexy to me. After Dani, I realized that well-put-together women are nothing but trouble. I don’t want a perfect woman. Their focus is never where it should be.
But it isn’t just the sight of Anna standing at the stove like she belongs in my space that has me entranced. As if that cruelty isn’t enough, she’s swaying her hips to music playing low from her phone on the counter. I know exactly how good that thick ass feels. Our sleeping positions somehow changed last night going from me curled around her back to her being sprawled on my chest, leg hitched up. I woke with one hand holding her against me at the knee and the other wrapped around her back and gripping her ass.
I swallow thickly with the memory, and Anna turns around, noticing me with a hitch in her breath before I can run upstairs and take care of the problem arising the same way I did when I left her in bed alone this morning.
“You scared me.” Her hand goes to her throat like she’s been scandalized, but I can’t say a word.
I’m too distracted by the heaving of her chest and the little smile toying at the corners of her mouth. She doesn’t seem upset like she was when we finished riding earlier, but I still plan to tread lightly.
“You cooked?”
“Spaghetti carbonara,” she whispers as if she thinks I’m going to be upset with her taking over my kitchen.
Maybe I have been too much of an asshole to her, letting our past bleed into the present when I discovered long ago that she isn’t the same girl she was back then.
“Smells delicious.”
Her grin is electric. “Get cleaned up.”
She turns back to the stove, and I only spend maybe another minute looking at her curves and the way the ceiling fan blows the loose strands of her hair against her neck before I haul ass up the stairs for a quick shower.
***
“None?” she asks as she brings the glass of whiskey to her lips.
God, she’s fucking distracting. Dinner was amazing, tasting even better than it smelled if that’s possible. We ate at the table, chatting like old friends before I insisted on cleaning.
We’re sitting on the front porch, where I found her after the kitchen was put back together, as the sun fades over the horizon.
“Deacon?” She uses the tip of her bare foot to nudge my leg from her rocking chair.
“Huh?” I look away, realizing that I just got caught staring at her.
“No college?”
I scrape my hand down my face before looking into my nearly empty whiskey glass. When did