Desire at Roosevelt Ranch

by Faber, Elise

  “Tilly is way better than I ever was,” Kel said. “I’ll remind you that she’s never even puked on anyone.”

  Henry waved a hand. “Meh. It was only Justin.”

  Kel cackled. “Well, I guess she can work up to that.”

  “Exactly. I’ll put it on her evaluation . . .”

  Tongue in cheek. As in, this conversation was all a joke, poking fun at Kel’s subpar waitressing talents. But the problem with inside jokes, with teasing and laughing in that manner was that if a person didn’t understand all the context, if they happened to be on the outside looking in, the joking part didn’t matter. They either felt left out or they might take that lighthearted ribbing personally.

  Especially, if a soft, vulnerable underbelly had accidentally been punched.

  And Tilly seemed to choose the second option.

  She whirled away, disappearing through the swinging double doors.

  Kel and Henry didn’t notice.

  But Rex did.

  He stood up and followed her into the hall, walking past the bathrooms, the kitchen, Henry’s office. No sign of Tilly. But the rear exit was slightly ajar, and he found himself pushing through the metal door, stepping out into the alleyway behind the restaurant.

  Tilly was there, clad in faded blue jeans and a white diner T-shirt, black apron filled with pens and notepads slung around her waist.

  It would have been good if his perusal stopped there.

  Preferable for both of them and significantly less messy.

  But Rex found he couldn’t stop his eyes from locking onto Tilly’s face, from noticing the paleness of her skin, her lips. All except her eyes. They were slightly reddened.

  She turned to face him when the door closed. “I’m fine, Henry. Just tired—”

  Her words cut off.

  “Hey,” he said, prose-writing genius that he was.

  “You’re not Henry,” she said.

  “No.” A shrug as he leaned carefully against the wall. “I’m pretty sure he’s still teasing Kelly about puking on Justin all those years ago.”

  Tilly did a valiant job of forcing a smile. “It’s a good story.”

  Rex nodded. “Their meet-cute.”

  Blond brows drew together. “Their what?”

  “The way they met.” He shrugged. “Every romcom has one. Saving someone from a car because their heel is stuck, bumping into someone and spilling their coffee on them, accidentally texting the wrong person.” Another shrug. “Pick your poison. There are oodles of them.”

  One of those pretty brows lifted. “Oodles?”

  He lifted his own in return. “Better than Angel?”

  God, she was cute when she wrinkled her nose. “Yes. But just barely.”

  “You know what they were saying wasn’t about you at all, right?” Rex inwardly groaned because when had he become a fucking therapist? He didn’t know the first thing about healthy emotional reactions and sure as shit shouldn’t be advising someone else on how to feel.

  And anyway, he’d managed to distract her for a moment then had brought up the same thing that had upset her in the first place.

  Super smooth.

  Fucking moron.

  Her eyes chilled. “Of course not. I just needed some fresh air.”

  He should have let the lie stand, but instead—and see above because fucking moron—he blurted, “I thought you just finished your break.”

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Why did this woman turn him into an idiot?

  “Never mind,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Tilly’s expression was bewildered. “I’m fine.”

  Well, at least he’d distracted her from whatever had made her sad, even if it had been because he was acting insane. Rex nodded. “Okay, great. Well—”

  “I wanted to say something,” she murmured, touching his arm and stopping him in his tracks when he turned to go. “I should have said it sooner.”

  “What?” He rotated back to face her, struck again by how beautiful she was.

  But it wasn’t just her gorgeous cheekbones or the way her bottom lip was slightly bigger than the top one, nor was it the delicate arch of her eyebrows or the lovely green and gold and brown of her irises. Because while all of those made for a beautiful package on the outside, none of it came close to what he was drawn to on the inside. Vulnerability was normally a turnoff for him—Rex wasn’t a rescuer by any means. In fact, usually any slice of weakness made him head for the hills, a la him taking off on Kelly.

  The biggest weakness of all was attachment.

  But though he barely knew Tilly, though he was already feeling more than a little attached, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t freaked out by the idea of building those bonds. In fact, he found that every minute with her made him want more—to figure her out, to discover why her. Why he was so drawn to this woman when he’d had so many others before and never felt anything like this for any of them.

  Tilly worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just wanted to apologize and to say thank you for returning my phone. I don’t know how you got it working again . . .” She paused, as though waiting for him to confess some mysterious cell phone fixing ability, but Rex wasn’t about to push it, wasn’t going to lie to this woman who was so different from all the others. Instead, he just studied her, watched her teeth sink into that lip again, the slightest bit of pink creeping along her cheekbones.

  “I’m glad you have a working phone again,” he said into the silence. There, that wasn’t a lie exactly.

  Tilly froze, eyes widening. “You didn’t.” She reached into her apron, pulled out her phone then gasped. “I was so thrown off that I didn’t realize before. You. Didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” he asked carefully.

  “You did not buy me a new phone, Rex Roosevelt!”

  Shit.

  “It’s not a big—”

  “Do not say it’s not a big deal,” she said, pacing away. “I have insurance. It would have covered it. This phone is stupid expensive. I shouldn’t have even splurged for it in the first place and—” She shoved it in his direction. “Take it back. I’ll go to the store after my shift and get a cheaper replacement.”

  He caught it before it tumbled to the ground, shoved it back into her apron. “Keep it,” he said. “I can’t return it anyway. Save your insurance for a future cell failure. It seems likely that you might need it,” he added when she tried to push it into his hands again and he had to scramble to catch it. Her fingers were on his wrist, his hand in her apron pocket as he tucked the phone deep inside when he blew it completely. “Fuck, woman. It’s not like I bought you a new car. It’s just a phone, accept the damn thing graciously.”

  So, Rex meant the words.

  And though had he not been so frustrated, he might have tried to find a kinder way to say the same thing, he still meant the sentiment.

  It was just the car addendum he would have skipped.

  Her jaw dropped open and she slapped his hands away from her apron.

  Since that meant the phone ended up in her pocket, Rex allowed it. And because her poking him in the chest with her finger brought her close enough that he could smell her delicate scent, could see the way her lips flushed bright pink in fury, he allowed that, too.

  “Rex. Roosevelt,” she gritted out. “You did not fix my car.”

  He shrugged. “According to the note, Dale fixed it.”

  She plunked her hands on her hips, one foot tapping. “And who called Dale?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Yes, it matters!” she snapped, yanking at the end of her ponytail and pacing away.

  He couldn’t not follow her, didn’t back up when she spun around and nearly plowed into him. “Why?” he said, tone as harsh as hers. “Who gives a fuck? Your car works. Your phone works. I made one stop, one call, threw some money that I could easily afford at your problems and—”

  “It fucking ma
tters because I don’t know you!”

  Rex clenched his jaw tight, biting back the urge to refute that statement because dammit, he didn’t know Tilly. He knew she wore lilac unicorn pajamas, that she worked her ass off at the diner, and then went home to fulfill products ordered from an Etsy storefront he’d discovered two nights before.

  He’d seen her up late in her kitchen, moving back and forth from the stove to the counters, filling bottles, stirring pots—

  Fuck, yes. He was still spying on her. A.k.a. Rex was losing his goddamned mind.

  But he’d worried. He’d obsessed and—

  Fine. He’d made a few calls to some of his favorite luxury bed and breakfasts, all but demanding they start carrying Tilly’s line of products. Her stuff wouldn’t disappoint, despite his multitude of experience with crap business ventures, he knew at least that much. Now he just needed to talk her into raising her prices and setting up a storefront.

  “You don’t have to know me,” he finally said. “All you have to do is accept that I wanted to do something nice for someone other than myself and move the fuck on.”

  She stopped, eyes flashing. “You mean accept it graciously.”

  “Well, fuck yes. That would be nice for a goddamn change.”

  Tilly stepped toward him, that finger digging into his chest again. “People don’t do things for nothing.” Her words were sharp, like daggers. “There are always strings. Always.”

  That statement made him sad.

  He didn’t want her to have learned that lesson.

  He wanted her protected, for her life to be easy, and maybe . . . maybe he’d done it in a vain hope that she might actually give him a chance.

  Despite his reputation in this town.

  Despite his royally fucked up past.

  Despite—

  “I don’t have any strings, Angel.”

  More wrinkles on that cute nose. He wanted to kiss them away. But at least his response seemed to have distracted her from her anger. “I thought we’d cooled the angel talk, creeper.”

  His mouth curved. “If you’re pissed at me, I might as well go all in.”

  Tilly sighed, glancing up at him and reminding his body once more that she was close, so damned close that it would only take the smallest movement to bring their torsos flush, their mouths aligned. A heartbeat passed, and she seemed to sense the same thing he did, freezing in place, voice dropping to a whisper. “All in with what?”

  Rex held his breath, considering his options for the first time in his life rather than jumping into the deep end head first.

  But that brief hesitation didn’t change anything.

  Because, in the end, he jumped anyway.

  Wrapping his arm around Tilly’s waist, he slammed his lips down onto hers.

  Twelve

  Tilly

  What was happening with her life right now?

  She was in the arms of the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on, his mouth was slanting across hers, tongue caressing the crease of her lips, inching inside to stroke along hers.

  Tilly Conner, smelling of sweat and eggs and grease, was in Rex Roosevelt’s arms, and he was kissing her as though she were the most precious object on the planet.

  But only for a moment longer, because the second she rose on tiptoe, the moment she allowed herself to get closer, to feel his chest against hers, to soak in just a little more of his bergamot and sandalwood scent, something in Rex snapped.

  His control. His sanity. His—

  It didn’t matter.

  Because suddenly the kiss wasn’t soft and sweet and gentle.

  It was fucking hot.

  His arm banded around her waist, his free hand wove into her hair. He tilted her head back, and Rex kissed her . . . really, fucking kissed her. With teeth and tongue and roving hands. With an erection poking into her belly and rough fingers in her hair. With more heat and passion than she’d ever felt before.

  She never wanted it to end, just wanted to stay wrapped up in him for an eternity, to feel those flames of desire licking up her skin, sliding through her center, coiling in her stomach, between her thighs.

  She wanted him to slip his hand down, to feel how wet she was for him, and—

  Tilly needed air.

  Gasping, she pulled back, sucking in much-needed oxygen.

  Rex let her breathe, though his mouth didn’t stop moving. She felt hot breath on her throat then his teeth nipped, making her jump before his tongue darted out to soothe the slight sting.

  “Rex,” she murmured, not wanting to break the moment but knowing that at any second someone could walk out of the diner and find them.

  “Mmm?”

  “We have to stop.”

  “Uh-uh.” He tugged the neck of her T-shirt to the side, licked her collar bone. “We don’t.”

  She gasped, fingers coming up to clench his shoulders. Tilly sucked in air, trying desperately to hold on to the one sane thought swirling around the desire and need filling her brain. “But we should anyway.”

  Rex froze, entire body stiffening as though she shoved a live wire up his—

  Before she could finish that thought—which was probably for the best considering its direction—he set her away from him and stepped back. “You go in first.”

  Cold, cold words from a man who’d been kissing her so hotly only heartbeats before.

  “Are you—?”

  “My cock is threatening to poke a hole in my jeans, Tilly,” he growled. “So, no, I’m not okay.” Blue eyes locked with hers. “And you won’t be either unless you go. The. Fuck. Back. Inside.”

  Heat this time. Heat that threatened to make her smile.

  But one glance into those baby blues, into the fire roiling just beneath the surface, and she reconsidered. His expression said that he would have her naked and against the diner’s brick wall given the slightest provocation, whoever might walk in on them be damned.

  She hesitated because, dammit, Rex was sexy as shit and kissed like a dream and it had been so fucking long.

  “Go,” he snapped, jarring her out of her thoughts and startling her into motion.

  Tilly hurried through the metal door, emerging into the hallway, heart pounding, lungs sawing, and . . .

  Smile on her lips.

  Rex Roosevelt.

  Hot damn.

  She spent a few minutes delivering plates to Kelly’s table since her order was ready, and Henry had apparently gotten too invested in his conversation with his bestie to realize the food was growing cold in the pass.

  Something Bella would kick his ass for later, Tilly reminded herself with a smirk as she set the plates of French toast down in front of Abigail.

  Justin had arrived, and he swiped his finger through the freshly whipped cream piled high on top.

  Part of the reason that Bella’s food was so popular with the kids.

  She knew her audience . . . and fully understood that her freshly whipped cream was like crack. Which was a euphemism that she would not be sharing aloud with the class. And definitely not with Rex, who seemed to take even the most innocuous words to a whole new realm of dirty. What he would do with cream and crack she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  Blueberry muffins with freshly grated hash browns went in front of Jesse, while the chocolate chip muffin with scrambled eggs she plunked down in reach of Jax.

  “Careful,” she told the little boy. “The plate is a bit hot.”

  Wide blue eyes—so much like Rex’s that it took her breath away—met hers. How had she never noticed before? And such an odd twist in genetics that even though Rex was technically Abigail’s biological father, she looked nothing like him, but the little boy was his spitting image.

  For the first time, she wondered how he was possibly in Darlington, how he was interacting with the family, playing the role of uncle when Abigail was really his.

  It had to be tough to step aside like that.

  And it wasn’t like Abigail’s parentage was a secret
, Darlington was the epitome of small town, and gossip spread like wildfire—which was to say that everyone knew exactly who Abigail’s father was, and it wasn’t Justin.

  Not fair, she thought, shoving the uncharitable thoughts aside.

  Sperm did not make a father, as she so personally knew, and Justin had been there since the beginning. He was a great dad, and she thought highly of Rex for having stepped back and let Justin and Kel build their family.

  If someone wasn’t ready to be a father, then sometimes it was better for all parties involved if he didn’t try to fill that role.

  Or maybe she was thinking of herself and her own father.

  Of all the times he’d canceled or hadn’t shown up or had flaked out because he couldn’t handle it. Her. So, yeah. Abigail was lucky to have two parents who loved her dearly along with a fun uncle.

  By the time she’d snagged the final three plates and returned to the table, Rex was back, leaning against the wall as Kel and Henry continued to talk.

  Justin rolled his eyes, smiling at her, but Tilly had a hard time focusing on anything except Rex. He was disheveled, his hair sporting tracks from her fingers running through it, his shirt wrinkled, lips swollen.

  No doubt hers were the same.

  It would be a fucking miracle if no one figured out what they had been doing in that alleyway, she thought, panic seeping up inside her.

  Yet, at the same time, would it really be so bad?

  Hadn’t she just been thinking he wasn’t a terrible person?

  But he was Rex Roosevelt—love ’em and leave ’em, flighty millionaire, more notches in his bedpost that a fucking wood-carver Rex Roosevelt. She couldn’t be attracted to him, couldn’t want him.

  Not if she wanted to escape with her heart intact.

  If he was nothing else, then he was dangerous, and if Kel had illustrated only one thing clearly in her entire life, it was that Rex wasn’t a man with staying power. He got what he wanted and he got the fuck out and . . .

  Tilly couldn’t afford to do that again.

  Not for a third time.