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But not you.
“You aren’t staying here tonight,” I said firmly, moving to grab her suitcase. I brought it to the bed and unzipped it. I ignored the red lace peeking out from beneath one of her shirts. “Pack your shit.”
“Mr. Langston—”
I was moving, closing the distance between us. Without a second thought, I grabbed her chin between my fingers, and tilted her head up. Her eyes were wide as she sucked in a breath, the sound shooting straight to my groin.
“You called me Denver in that alley. You called me Denver in my truck. You will only call me Denver from now on, is that clear?”
“I—”
“Is that clear?” I asked, bending my head as my fingers tightened.
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”
“Baby, I’ll gladly take you over my knee if need be.”
She froze, and I pulled back from her face. “Pack your shit. I have to make a call.”
Chapter Sixteen
Valerie
Itwasdawn.Earlydawn.
I hadn’t slept.
It was early dawn, and I was at the place that got me fired, in the home of a man who refused me, rescued me, doctored me, and then saved me from something tragic.
After I’d left the bar, I knew that man had followed me. The streets were empty, which was odd, considering that it was a Saturday night. However, looking back on it now, there weren’t a lot of younger people in that bar last night. The bartender might have been the youngest one there.
The man followed me, and I ducked into the alley, thinking I would be able to fend him off. He looked weak underneath that suit; I could hold my own. I was fully ready to go down fighting; at least, until he pulled out a switchblade.
He told me to face the wall, or he would cut me open.
I planned on fighting him then, too, which I did. I’d managed to step on one of his feet before he slammed my head into the brick, holding me by the hair. I closed my eyes and screamed, even though no one was outside. I had to hope someone would come.
I never expected my dark cowboy. His smoke was all around me, cloaking me, protecting me from that vile man.
When I opened my eyes, all I saw was him. I cried out for him, and he saved me.
He killed for me. He protected me.
Then he took me to the hotel and told me to pack. I didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the look of anger that flashed over his handsome face when I told him I was leaving. I didn’t miss the hurt in the smoke of his eyes.
I was too tired to ask questions, so, I packed. He made a phone call, speaking lowly behind the bathroom door, before we headed to the lobby. From there, Denver checked me out of the hotel and made sure Moonie Pipelines was covering the cost. After that, we rode to the ranch in silence.
He put me in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall, told me to get some rest and left.
That was it.
Fast forward to now. I was sitting on the bed in my nightie, watching the sunrise from the window, wondering how in the hell I got here. This wasn’t the plan for my life. None of this was in the plan.
Mom getting cancer wasn’t the plan.
Me saving Mom had become the plan.
Now—
