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“You want me to wake him?” her dad grumbled.
Sophie flashed him a smile. “Only if you want an excuse to get his butt out of bed.”
He laughed. “I need his help later with the yearlings. I’d better let him get his beauty sleep or he’ll be grouching around here all day.” He leaned a hip against the counter and sipped his coffee.
“You know, you don’t have to keep me company. I’m not a guest.”
He shrugged one lean shoulder, and Sophie wondered if he was getting thinner. “It’s nice to talk to you. Gets a little lonely out here these days.”
“I’m off today. Why don’t I stay and make a big lunch?”
Her dad huffed. “That’s not what I meant. Go shopping. Go have lunch with your girlfriends. Don’t spend your day off with an old man, Sophie.”
“I like being here.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve got a busy day later. I can’t hang around all day for lunch.”
She narrowed her eyes and watched him for a long while, trying to read his face. Was he lying just to stop her from staying around? But he gave away nothing. He just looked back at her with those pale blue eyes framed by familiar wrinkles from spending too many years in the sun.
“Okay,” she finally conceded. “But I’ll make something good for dinner before I leave. I’ll throw it in the Crock-Pot and it’ll be ready by five-thirty.”
“Thanks, pumpkin. You take good care of me.” He came over to give her a kiss on the crown of her head, then headed for the back door. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Bye, Daddy.”
Sophie tried to ignore the embarrassing amount of pride she felt at his words. She did take good care of him. She’d been doing it since she was five, and she’d be doing it until she was sixty. He needed her. She was never going to walk away from that.
With the house quiet now, Sophie was done with the bookkeeping in no time. Next week it’d be time to take stock of supplies and order in anything they needed for winter, but today’s work was pretty simple. She tidied up the desk and headed to the kitchen to throw some meat and veggies into the slow cooker. She wouldn’t be around to make gravy, but she set out a jar of premade. That man loved gravy. Hopefully, he’d clean up the leftovers with a few slices of buttered bread while no one was looking and put a few pounds on his skinny frame by next week.
Once she’d tidied up, Sophie went to her dad’s room, gathered up his dirty clothes and started a load of wash. She ignored her brother’s closed door. He’d have to learn to fend for himself if he was ever going to live on his own someday. But he probably never would. He’d gotten too used to being taken care of, and Sophie knew she had to take a lot of the blame for that. Something else to feel guilty about.
Speaking of...even the thought of the word guilt led her back to Alex Bishop.
Would she see him again? He’d seemed awfully sure that she would. And he’d been right about one thing. She did want more. A lot more.
She wanted to be near him, wanted to feel the way her skin prickled at the very sight of him. And the way she felt small and submissive when his big hands touched her. God, the man had gorgeous hands. And arms. And tattoos.
She wanted to lick him. Wanted to fuck him. She wanted to call and keep lying about who she was so she could see him again and do everything they hadn’t done yet.
She was a terrible person, but she tried her best to keep it to herself. It didn’t matter as long as no one knew, as long as no one was hurt. But this had the potential to hurt Alex, herself and both of their families.
Not worth the hot sex, she scolded herself. But the terrible person inside her disagreed. Strongly.
She checked over the house one more time before leaving, slamming the door in the hopes that her brother would get his lazy butt out of bed. But by the time she got into her car and started for home, she wasn’t thinking about her brother. She was thinking about Alex. Again.
With her car window rolled down, the wind reminded her of the cool air against her body the night before. Just the ride on his bike had been a turn-on. The feel of his body guiding the beast beneath them, the way he’d fitted between her knees, the scent of his leather coat, the rumble of the engine. Then the speed. The power. The wind. The shimmering, sizzling knowledge that the ride was dangerous. Even deadly. It had all added up to the most arousing experience she’d had in years.
And then he’d slipped his hand over her thigh. The same bolt of pure animal lust she’d felt at that touch speared through her right now.
Sophie squirmed, then squeezed her thighs together, catching the pleasure between her legs and squeezing it tighter.
That first touch had been a rush, but then an even larger pleasure had pulsed through her, growing bigger and bigger as his hand slid higher and higher. The knowledge that he’d touch bare skin, that he’d know, that he’d find out. She wasn’t what people thought she was. She wasn’t a shy, modest local girl afraid to venture far from home. She was naughty. She was wicked. And she loved it.
His hand had finally found the top of her stocking. He’d discovered that secret. And unlike most men, he hadn’t missed a beat. One touch of her wickedly bare thigh, and Alex had pulled the bike over to discover whether or not she meant it. She did. She always did.
Sophie squeezed her thighs together again, gasping at the shock of that sweet pleasure.
God.
