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“Oh?” I ask, sliding my hands in my pockets because I don’t want to intimidate her. We’re finally making some progress here. “Like what kinds of skills?”
My mind immediately goes to dark, dirty places, to the ways I could defile and use this innocent, gorgeous woman, but for God’s sake, I can get my shit together long enough to shut that off.
I don’t care that she’s “married.” I don’t give a shit about wedding vows that give a man a license to hit someone. And she’s here now, so a part of me wonder if she left. Why else would she be sleeping in this bed?
“I’m an excellent cook,” she says eagerly, leaning closer to me so I can see her earnest, beautiful eyes, and I reel myself back to the present conversation. “Actually, I can cookandbake. I’m also quite skilled at mending, sewing, and quilting. I preserve and can pickles and jams, know how to plant and garden, and I’m very good at knowing what to do with small children and babies. Additionally, animal husbandry is one of my specialties. I could go… on…” she continues haltingly, “but I… I don’t want to brag.” A faint flush colors her cheeks.
Child rearing.
She sounds like a live-action resume for an Amish mail order bride.
“Animal… husbandry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir.
Until now, I had no idea one of my kinks was despoiling an innocent woman.
“What might animal husbandry involve?”
“Caring for livestock,” she says in a small voice. I watch as she visibly shrinks. “Milking cows, collecting eggs…” Her voice trails off. She finishes in a whisper. “Though I’m sorry, I’m starting to realize my skills may not be…applicablehere.”
Oh, they’re fucking applicable.
She ran from one place and ended up here. Bartering her skills as if she wants to actually stay.She must’ve left him.
“As luck would have it,” I say, as if I’m thinking things over, as if my mind isn’t racing with the ways I could make her stay here if I wanted to, “I temporarily need someone who can cook.”
I need to know more about her.
“Do you?” Her face lights up in a way that makes me want to give her anything she wants.
It’s dangerous. So fucking dangerous, I’m tempted to tell her to leave.Men like me don’t give a shit about wedding vows to asshole wifebeaters. So while she might think being married gives her a barrier of protection againstme…she’s wrong.
Run. Run, while you still can.
“I’m having an event here and the caterer bailed again. My cousins are going to help, but they’re supposed to be attending the event.”
I can’t have her cook for the whole crowd, but she can do something.
I don’t care that she slept in this bed. I don’t care that she trespassed.
I want an excuse so she’ll stay.
“Well, then,” she says, nodding as if it’s decided. “I need to freshen up a bit and then I’ll get right to work. It’s a deal.” When she extends her hand awkwardly, I stare at her. I don’t trust myself to touch her.
“I’m—I’m so sorry I’m awkward,” she says. “I haven’t—I don’t—”
“Stop apologizing.” I’ve had enough of all the unnecessary apologies. How any man could hurt a woman like this—Jesus.
She opens her mouth, probably to apologize for apologizing, then shuts it when she thinks better of her response.
My fingers close around hers protectively. Her hand is so small, so soft, it’s completely engulfed in mine. My chest swells with inexplicable emotion. I want to touch more than her hand, but my need isn’t just sexual.
I want to tuck her against me and hold her. I want to ward off anyone and everything that would hurt her or even make her frown. She’s innocence personified, and I’ve never felt anything so dangerous in my whole damn life.
“Deal,” I say, my voice a low rasp.
