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“I’ve hardly eaten anything today. That’s all.” My voice sounds as weak as his gaze makes me feel.
I let out a soft sigh as I breathe in his heady scent. A wave of tingles rolls over my skin as I smile reflexively. He smells… rugged. And with his well-worn shirt, hat, jeans, and boots, he looks the part too. I thought he was gorgeous when I was younger, but now? Now I’m seeing what age can do to a man.
“I can fix that for you,” he says, thumb still stroking. My skin still burning beneath his touch.
I try to reposition myself but my body refuses to budge more than a few inches, penned in by Wyatt’s solid frame.
“Easy,” Wyatt rasps before setting the washcloth aside. “I’ll bring the food to you.”
“I think the kitchen’s closed.”
“I’ve got something special in mind.”
He disappears but his scent lingers in the air and his effect on my body refuses to dissipate. But I don’t have to wait long before he returns.
“Here,” he says, helping me up as he sets out a container and fork in front of me.
“I’m not sure how long you’ve been in Whispering Winds…” He pauses as though waiting for me to give him my name. Wait. He doesn’t recognize me?
“Mia,” I say, slowly and in disbelief.
“Mia,” Wyatt repeats, rolling it over his tongue.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love hearing my name on his lips. But I’m dumbstruck that he has no idea who I am. Does he not know I’m the girl who used to hang around in the kitchen for a single glance of him when he’d come barging into our home, sweaty and dirty and gorgeous from a long day of football or wandering the mountain with my brother?
“Well, this is the best dessert around. Sells out almost immediately. You have no idea the lengths I had to go through to get some of it.”
Deep breath. Focus. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that he doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t see me as my brother’s kid sister. I’ve changed.
“And you’re sharing it with me? A complete stranger,” I add just to make sure I’m not the oblivious one here.
“I hope we’re not strangers by the end of the night.”
“Yeah?” I ask, shifting in my seat, my body unable to still under Wyatt’s penetrating gaze.
“I want to know everything about you.”
I swallow, fiddling with the fork’s tines with my fingertips.
“How about we start with your name, Cowboy?” I glance at his boots briefly before meeting his gaze again. There’s always a chance that I have it wrong. But those eyes are exactly how I remember them, and their power over me is just as strong.
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. I stare at that dimple, and it removes all doubt in my mind. Wyatt’s grown a beard, bulked up, and years of hard work in the hot sun have weathered his face, but I know it’s him.
“Wyatt,” he says. “Wyatt Hartwell.”
He extends his hand and I follow with mine. An electric current races up my arm as his hand swallows mine up, and I can’t help but imagine how his hands would feel like elsewhere.
“Eat, Mia,” he says, nudging the container with his knee. “I don’t want to see you faint again. But…” he says, another smile forming. “That would mean I’d get to hold you again, so as you can see, I’m conflicted.”
He lets go of my hand and I want to grab it back. But then he touches my leg, and I’m okay with the new development as my belly cinches tightly. Goosebumps erupt. And for the first time in my life, I wish I’d been a theater major.
I could go for a convincing fainting spell right about now.
Chapter 3
Wyatt
Mia, Mia, Mia… Where have you been all my life?
