by Penny Wylder
Pain spikes through my hand and a curse flies from my mouth and my finger throbs. Jesus. I hit my own damn hand with my hammer, something that I haven’t done since I was on my very first construction job. All because I was imagining Melena begging for my cock.
Serves me right. I hear her tools dropping on the ground. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” I grit out, though I know that I’m going to have one hell of a bruise.
“Well let’s make sure,” she says with determination. “There’s too much to do around here without you having a broken hand.”
“I don’t have a—” Melena has already walked away back toward the house where the first aid kit is. I don’t have a broken hand—I’ve broken bones before and this isn’t it. But if she wants to see for herself that I’m fine, then I’m not going to argue with her.
The skin on my hand is already darkening, and I can already tell it’ll be a hellish blue by tomorrow morning. It isn’t going to be comfortable working with that kind of bruise, but I’ve done it before. And I keep the first aid kit supplied with basic painkillers. I know that I’ll be fine, but I like seeing her concerned about me.
Her determined stance doesn’t change as she sits me down on the steps to the house and goes to get the kit. I hide my smile as I do what I’m told.
She sits down next to me and opens the kit, pulling my hand into her lap as she does so. I don’t move, not daring to make her realize that it’s the most contact that we’ve had in days, and the feeling of her bare skin under my fingers is a heaven that I want more of.
Melena gently looks at where I struck myself, and I wince when her fingers brush ever so gently. It’s tender. There’s a bump that’s rising.
“No stitches or anything,” she says, “or even I guess a bandaid.” Her cheeks go pink. “I guess I didn’t need to drag you all the way over here.”
“That’s okay,” I say softly. “I’ll take a couple of those pain killers.”
Before I can stop her, she’s off the steps and is back in a minute with a glass of water. I swallow the pills that she hands me. That’ll be good when they kick in. She takes my hand again, and I let her, incredibly aware of the fact that her fingers are lingering on my skin.
“I’ve never seen you fumble,” she says. “What happened?”
“I don’t think you want to know that.”
Melena frowns. “Why not?”
“Because I was thinking about you?”
She sucks in a breath, shocked, but I can also see the instant desire that comes into her eyes. “About me?”
“About you.”
I watch her swallow and try to find the words. “What about me?”
“It would be easier to show you, Melena. Are you going to ask me to kiss you again?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I know that she’s remembering those brief moments in the stable. I hope that they’re branded in her brain the same way that they’re branded in mine.
Melena bites her lip as she’s still staring at my mouth. Then, slowly, she shakes her head. Like she’s forcing herself to make the motion. “No. And you can call me Mel, you know.”
My stomach drops. I’m not sure what’s holding her back, but I don’t want us to be dancing around each other anymore. We’ve been doing it long enough.
“Okay, Mel,” I say, turning toward her on the steps. She’s still holding my hand, though I think that she’s forgotten. So I grip it harder. I want her full attention. “Just so there’s no confusion, I want you.”
I let the words hang in the air between us.
“This chemistry between us isn’t something you find every day, and I want to see how far it goes. But if you want it, you’re going to have to ask me. I would never force you—or anyone—and I’m not a thief who takes what doesn’t belong to me. So if you get curious, I’m all in. You know where to find me. But you need to say the words.”
She’s leaning closer to me, eyes flickering all over me like she can’t settle on which part of me to look at. “What happens if I ask you?”
I smile. This is an opportunity to tell her exactly what I imagine when I think of her. “If you ask me to kiss you, I’ll kiss you.” Leaning closer, I make her meet my eyes. “And if you wanted me to do more than kiss you? That depends. If we’re going slow, then I’d take my time. I’d pull off every piece of clothing you have and kiss every inch of your body. I’d spread you out on that table in the kitchen and feast on you until you were screaming, but I wouldn’t let you come until you were so desperate you were begging for it. And then I’d carry you upstairs to my bed and do it all over again until we both couldn’t move from exhaustion.
“But if we were doing it fast?” I laugh, low and raw. “Those clothes of yours wouldn’t survive. I would push you against the closest wall. I’d yank down those skimpy shorts and move aside your panties. I’d take you hard. I know you’d be ready; you’d already be dripping wet. Maybe you are, even now? I’d fuck you until we’re both breathless, until you’re screaming my name. If you ask me to kiss you, Mel, your life will never be the same.”
I can see the way that she’s now breathless. Her chest rising and falling fast, lips parted, eyes glazed with the images that I’ve painted for her. And then I pull back.
Melena startles, realizing how close we are, and still staring at me with that kind of awe that she had when I pulled back the shower curtain. But I made a promise to her. I wouldn’t touch her unless she asked. So I stand up and walk away.
Even though my cock is harder than a rock and I want nothing but to pin her to the Texas dirt and make good on the promise of her screaming. I can only hope that laying it all out there will leave her wanting more.
Because Melena has gotten under my skin. I’m starting to crave more than just her body, and if something doesn’t break between us soon, both of us will be wrecked.
7
Melena
I’m staring at the ceiling above my bed, and I think I’ve been staring at it for hours. There’s no chance that I’ll be able to sleep right now. My brain feels fried. Racing.
I tried that old trick of just closing my eyes and letting my body do the work to fall asleep, but it didn’t work, and now I’m here.
There hasn’t been much reason to use my phone, but I roll over and check it now. It’s well past midnight. Nearly two a.m. I’ve been going to bed early because the work is exhausting. Normal weekdays don’t really matter here, but Harlan told me we were taking the day off tomorrow. Apparently today is Friday.
Thank fuck we’re taking the day off because if I can’t sleep, I can’t get up at dawn.
The things that Harlan said to me earlier slip into my brain again and I groan, scrubbing my hands across my face. They’ve been re-appearing in my head ever since he said them. Hell, when he was saying those things I was about ready to strip my clothes off and let him do exactly what he said he would.
But I’m saving myself.
That thought enters my head as automatically as looking both ways when crossing the road. It’s something that’s always been there. Save yourself for marriage, and everything will work out. Save yourself for marriage, and the man you choose will be the right one.
I’ve always felt that way, because watching my parents’ relationship and how much they love and cherish each other has been one of the best parts of my life. But I’ve had friends who got married without being virgins, and they seem happy. And my parents—my mother specifically—never pressured me. It was my decision to save myself. My choice.
But my choices led me to a place where everything in my life was almost destroyed because of a job. I didn’t have friends anymore. I barely had myself. So how sound are my decisions really?
I shouldn’t sleep with Harlan as a reaction to the things that led me here. I shouldn’t use previous bad decisions as an excuse to change my mind about my virginity. That isn’t smart. But I also feel like he has a point—the raw chemistry that sprung up between us isn’t some
thing that I’ve ever felt with anyone else, and with him it was instant.
The memory of his mouth on mine flashes through my mind. I will never forget that moment. The sheer heat of his lips and the hardness of his body. It was beyond temptation. I’m not ready to ask him for everything—not yet. But the thought of not saving myself for a marriage that wasn’t even on the horizon no longer panics me the way it used to. Maybe I just hadn’t met the right person that made me ready to take that step.
Another flash of Harlan’s lips, and the restless energy it gave me has me pushing back the blankets and getting out of bed. I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, but I can’t just lay here in this bed thinking about him.
I pull on my clothes and shoes, including a sweatshirt because the temperature dropped farther than I expected during the night. I need distraction and movement. Something different. I grab my notebook too, and my keys.
Before I know it, I’m in my car and hurtling down the drive toward the main road. There is a gas station and diner maybe twenty miles down the road from the ranch. It connects this desolate place to one of the bigger highways.
Not ideal, but good enough. I just need something different to get this man out of my head.
The lights of the gas station and diner are a beacon in the dark. It looks a little like a horror film, and there are only a couple of cars and no trucks. Probably just the overnight employees. I can’t imagine too many people come into a twenty-four-hour diner that’s in the middle of nowhere at two a.m. But I’ll be that person. Just…I don’t know…eat a piece of pie and go home.
There’s a waitress standing behind the counter when I walk in, and her eyebrows rise into her hairline when she sees me. Clearly I was right, she’s not used to seeing people here. There’s only one other patron, a man that’s leaning over the counter half asleep.
But the place is warm, cozy, and homier than I imagined that it would be. The waitress comes over. “Don’t get many people out here this late. You want something?”
“You have pie?” I ask.
“Sure do.”
“I’ll take a piece of cherry, please.” I resist the urge to ask for coffee. I’m still hoping to get some sleep tonight, and coffee isn’t going to help that situation.
Setting my notebook on the table, I open it and stare at the blank page. Just like I’ve been doing for days whether it’s been this notebook or the computer screen of my laptop. I thought that I had so many ideas, but when I go to write them down, my brain empties and that idea well is drier than this Texas desert.
And predictably, my mind turns to Harlan. And I’m tired of fighting it. So I let myself think about him. About how impossibly attractive I find him and the fantasies that I’ve had. About how I’ve watched him work and talked with him and discovered his intelligence and capability. And about his care of me when he knew I was afraid, though he could have mocked me and there was nothing that I would have been able to do about it.
That first meeting, I was determined to hate him. That turned around pretty quickly, even though I still found him frustrating as hell. What would it have been like if that meeting had gone differently? Gone the way I had always imagined meeting someone like Harlan would go?
And just like that the words begin to flow for the first time in days. The waitress sets down my pie—cherry—and I consume it while I write. It’s just a scene and the beginning of an idea, but it feels good to have the words flowing. A budding romance with a sweeter beginning than Harlan and I had.
If there was a ‘Harlan and I.’
The pie is actually amazing, and I know that I’ll be coming back here for more in the daytime. Harlan has to try this. Hell, I’m going to bring him back a piece for tomorrow. I flag down the waitress and ask her for another piece to go, and keep writing while she brings me the box and the check.
It’s amazing how much clearer I feel after writing. My thoughts about Harlan are definitely not settled, but I know that when I get back to the ranch I’ll be able to sleep. That’s something, at least.
I head out to my car feeling lighter and more at peace than I have since I arrived. Though I hope I won’t have to venture out in the middle of the night again to achieve this feeling.
“What were you writing in there?”
The voice that comes out of nowhere is raspy and dry, and I jump, turning to face the man who was sitting at the counter earlier. I was so engrossed in my writing that I hadn’t paid him much attention or seen him leave. He didn’t seem totally present, but there was a gleam in his eye that sent a chill down my spine.
“Nothing,” I say, continuing my walk toward my car.
I can feel him following, a dark presence at my back, and as I walk faster, he walks faster too.
Before I get to the car, I turn to face him. I don’t want him to be able to force me into the car and drive away. “Please leave me alone.”
He sneers. “I’m just trying to have a conversation. Loosen up. You never answered my question.”
“I don’t know you, and I don’t want to talk to you.”
Faster than I can react, he’s in my face, gripping my chin. Everything I’m holding goes flying, as I shove at him, but he’s impossibly strong for someone so thin and wiry. “Listen bitch, if I want to talk to you, I’m going to talk to you. And you’ll do more than that.” He’s moving to pull me away from my car. No. This can’t happen. No.
“Hey!” The word comes a split second before the man disappears, flying feet away from me and tumbling into the dirt. Harlan is on him in a second, and with ruthless efficiency delivers a punch to the head that renders the man still.
I can only blink when he turns to me, and I stare at the still body on the ground. Everything happened so fast, that my body doesn’t know what to do with the adrenaline. I’m not afraid anymore, but I’m still shaking. Harlan steps in front of me, lifting my chin so he can inspect my face in the light from the diner. “Are you hurt?”
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out.
A ghost of a smile is on his face before it’s gone. “I heard you leave, and then I didn’t hear you come back. It was long enough that I was worried, so I drove down the road until I saw your car.”
My heart skips a beat. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
Instead of answering, Harlan steps back, letting me catch my breath from being that close to him, and then he picks up my notebook from where it’s fallen on the ground, open. His eyes scan the pages, and there’s immediate interest. Oh fuck. He can’t read that. Because it’s all about him. Everything on those pages is inspired by him and I was just dumping out all my thoughts.
I snatch the book away from him, which makes him smirk. There’s no way he’s going to let that go—I can already see it. Instead I try to change the subject, picking up the box with the pie that’s now partially smashed.
“I got this for you,” I say. “I’m sorry it’s kind of crushed now.”
“For me?”
I nod. “I had a piece while I was in there, and it was delicious, so I thought you should have some too. But I might need to get you more than pie for what you just did for me.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Mel,” he says, taking the box of pie.
I’m not so sure that he’s right. If he hadn’t decided to follow me, it could have been a lot worse. “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “I just needed to get out for a while.”
Harlan stares at me for a moment. “Away from me?”
I shake my head. “No. Yes. I don’t know, I just needed to not be there for a little while.”
Thankfully he doesn’t comment on the fact that I might have done this to get away from him. “If you need that again, at least tell me where you’re going,” he says. “I can come with you, even if it means sitting in the car in the parking lot.”
I would never do that. We both know it. But I’m glad that
he offers anyway.
“Are you okay to drive? We could come back for your car tomorrow.”
“No, I’m fine,” I say. I need the space to think and breathe and make peace with what just happened. We separate to our cars, and he follows me home. I can see his lights in my rear-view mirror the whole way, and it’s comforting.
What am I going to do with myself? Harlan Decker is pulling me in, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stay away. He’s a bundle of contradictions wrapped in a bow, and every time I unwrap a new side of him, I only like him more.
Maybe sleep isn’t going to happen tonight after all.
8
Harlan
Days off on a ranch like this pass slowly. There’s not much to do if you’re not working—at least not yet. But even though we’re not working on Trevor’s property, I do some work on mine.
My piece of land is on the shore of the spring-fed lake. It’s beautiful, and it’s clear that I got one of the best pieces of land here. Without a doubt. I have plans to build a house here, and Trevor agreed to have his crews frame out my home along with the other buildings. Which means I need to get started with clearing the land and finalizing the plans. I have a good idea of what I want, but it’s not solid yet.
I spend a few hours on the land, picking exactly where I want the house to be and getting the view right, and then I start to clear the brush and the few trees from that space. But it’s still my day off, and I don’t have to run myself into the ground. Yet the sun is already fading when I head back toward the house. I let myself get so engrossed in my plans that I didn’t notice how much of the day had slipped away.
While I was working I didn’t let myself wonder what Melena was doing, but as I walk back to the house to shower and relax, I do wonder. Was she writing again? I saw my name in that book I picked up last night, and I’m desperate to get another look.