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“What?” I bark when I push the green button harder than necessary, putting it on speaker and tossing the phone onto the cushion beside me. Not for the first time, I wonder if I could get away with “accidentally” breaking the fucking phone and just never replacing it.
“You comin’ back for dinner?” There's a hopeful tone to his voice. He's the youngest, and despite the fact that Gage and I tortured him growing up—our responsibility as older brothers—we've always been close, and he's often the first to play peacemaker.
“No.” He doesn’t deserve my vitriol, but the others knew what they were doing when they chose him to call. “Go eat, Brooks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Scooping up the phone, I get perverse enjoyment out of smashing the red button with my finger, ending the call without another word.
Plopping the phone back on the couch, I stand and go into the kitchen to grab another beer, downing it as I peer into my freezer, weighing the pros and cons of a frozen meal versus the pot roast Simona is serving up at the house. With a sigh, I pull out a cardboard box that is mostly covered in ice, hoping the insides are better preserved.
Tossing the now-empty bottle into the recycle bin, I tear the cardboard off and peel back a corner to let the mystery dinner vent as it cooks. Questionable smells fill my small cabin as it thaws, and regret immediately sets in when I think about the meal I could’ve had if I’d been willing to sacrifice my solitude.
The timer rings loudly through the silent room, and I pop the door open, waving my hand to disperse the steam that pours out of the microwave, praying it tastes better than it smells. With the first and only bite, I know my prayers have been ignored, and I toss it directly into the trash and reach for another beer instead.
I’m not a big drinker, but extenuating circumstances and all that. Turning on my heel, I drink as I walk into my bedroom and set the empty bottle on the bedside table, eyeing the lariat hanging over the headboard. Once upon a time, I dreamt of following my old man’s footsteps in the rodeo. From the moment I could lift it above my head and keep it spinning, I was roping anything that moved. Except Simona. Once was all it took to know that some things are off-limits.
Like all dreams, however, that one ended quickly—rodeo was not for me. It’s been a useful skill on the ranch, of course, but now I keep a lariat handy, using it like a Gen Z’er uses a fidget spinner.
Turning away, I strip and walk into the bathroom, turning the shower as cold as it can go before stepping under the spray with a hiss. My flushed skin turns pinker from the chill of the water, but after a minute, I can barely feel anything. Sighing in blissful oblivion, I wash slowly, giving myself a stern lecture.
When I’m clean, I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my waist, knotting it loosely. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth, wondering who is staring back at me. He looks sad, defeated. Nothing like the independent, lone wolf I’ve always prided myself on being.
“Pussy,” I spit out, disgusted with what I’ve become. Slapping the light switch and sending the bathroom into darkness, I pick my way back into the bedroom from memory, only stumbling over a hastily discarded shoe once before I reach the bed.
Dropping the towel to the floor, I flop down onto the middle of the large bed, one hand behind my head on the pillow and the other gripping my still-hard cock. No amount of cold water can diminish the need for release that comes from the continuous fantasy revenge porn reel in my head, featuring me and one Darby Miller.
Not long after the doctor left, curiosity got the better of me, and despite his orders that I remain in bed with my ankle elevated for several days, I can’t help but hobble as quietly and gently as possible over to the window and take in my temporary surroundings, trying to get my bearings. The sun is beginning to set, but this time, I’m safe and warm. Nothing is lurking in the shadows, waiting to get me.
Or is there? My body seizes at the thought. There’s no way they could track me down—at least not this quickly. I left everything behind. I haven’t so much as uttered the name Annabeth Russo under my breath. Quinn Smith is nearly as far removed from my old life as possible. My only friends were carefully chosen by my parents, and even then, our interactions were always chaperoned.
If only my parents could see me now, though it’s probably for the best that they don’t. My mother would be panting over my rescuer. Who could blame her? He is hands down the mostattractive man I’ve ever seen. My father would take one look at Westley and have me stashed in a convent in Europe the next day for the rest of my life.
Doc left the door open on his way out, and from the window, I can just make out the murmur of multiple voices downstairs. I cock my head, straining to hear what they’re saying. I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially after West went to all the trouble of rescuing me, but curiosity wins out, and I want to know more about who is in the house besides the two people I’ve already met.
I can make out a few voices, but soon, the slamming of a door somewhere downstairs makes me jump, and I turn my attention back to the window, watching the colors change as the sun continues its descent. A figure strides away from the house before stopping abruptly and turning back, looking around as if waiting for an ambush. I move closer to the window to get a better look and gasp when his eyes slowly rake up the house and narrow on me.
He’s scowling, but even with the angry expression, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Built like a tank, his muscles strain against the confines of his jeans and t-shirt. He watches the window for a minute, glaring intently, but I don’t think he can see inside because he finally turns and stalks off toward a barn.
From my vantage point on the second floor, I have a good view of the ranch. Well-kept buildings scatter the grounds, and several people scurry between them going about their day as it draws to a close. My eyes track the mysterious, angry man as he detours around a beautiful barn and disappears behind it.
I can’t see the open range where West found me, but the fields surrounding the house seem to be mostly well-kept grass areas with bright white fences that stand out in the rapidly darkening sky. It’s reminiscent of what I saw at the boutique stables back home before my parents decided riding horses was unladylike.
Silence breaks through my musings, and I realize the voices have stopped downstairs, replaced with a delicious aroma that causes my stomach to rumble greedily. Simona mentioned pot roast earlier, and now, it’s all I can think about. Not wanting to be caught already disobeying the doctor’s orders, I move slowly back to the bed, situating myself back in the middle, my bandaged ankle propped up on two plump pillows, just how Doc left me.
As I’m settling the soft throw blanket over my legs, I hear the unmistakable clicking of Twitch’s nails on the stairs. Seconds later, he’s bounding into my room through the open door, coming to a stop beside the bed, his chocolate eyes boring into my soul. Without thinking about it, I pat the top of the blanket and chuckle as he lithely jumps on the bed and lays down beside me.
My hand instinctively moves to stroke his silky fur, and I murmur nonsense to him. He seems to enjoy it until I stop when I hear footsteps in the hallway. One of his paws moves onto my thigh, demanding my attention. I resume my petting, laughing aloud when he rolls over, watching me upside down, tongue lolling out of his mouth and giving me access to rub his furry belly.
“Making himself at home, I see,” West says, stepping through the door, a smile lighting up his handsome face. I grin up at him,my eyes meeting his before I look down and see the tray he’s holding.
“Let me help,” I say, pushing the blanket off my lap and attempting to stand, momentarily forgetting my ankle. In two steps, before I can even fully climb off the bed, West is standing in front of me, the tray balanced in one large hand, the other reaching out and gently touching my shoulder, pushing me back down to the bed.
As if I were naked, sparks shoot through me where he touches me over my borrowed shirt. We stay like that, in awkward, sexually tense silence, for several moments before West clears his throat and drops his hand, taking a small step back. The distance does nothing for the heat coursing through my body just from being in his proximity. I’m mortified that just feeling his hand on my shoulder nearly destroyed my underwear.
His eyes take in my every movement as I settle back onto the bed, scooting backward against the headboard and mountain of pillows, very much like the princess he calls me.
“Let me help you,” West says, turning to set the tray on the side table. When he leans over the bed, helping me settle my foot on the pillows, I nearly combust with fantasies of him hovering above me, settling his muscular body between my thighs and taking my virginity. I gasp, biting my bottom lip in embarrassment. I’ve never even considered being with anyone, let alone a man I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to jostle you,” he apologizes quickly, misreading my gasp. Gratefully, I smile up at him witha timid nod. He settles the blanket over me again before moving to the other side of the room. At first, I think he’s retreating from me, believing he upset me. When he pulls a small table and an armchair to the bedside, I see what he’s doing and grin.
He grabs one of the pillows beside me and places it on my lap before turning and grabbing a fork and one of the bowls from the tray, setting it on the pillow, watching me as I look it over.
