Her stomach sank. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, staring at his profile. All hard lines, not an ounce of softness in him. Outwardly. But she was beginning to know better. She tucked his shirt around her knees when she noticed it creeping up.
He shrugged. “Can’t blame him, I guess.”
“He’ll come around. I know him…or I’ve gotten to know him. He wouldn’t be so upset with you if he didn’t care, Ty.”
He turned to her, and she swallowed hard at the intensity in his stare. “I don’t need a father anymore. It doesn’t matter if he comes around or not. I’m here out of duty. Out of obligation. Because it’s the right thing to do. God knows I haven’t done the right thing in a long time.”
She drank the rest of her whiskey, wincing as it ran down her throat the wrong way. She coughed. “He’ll always be your father, Ty. And you may think you don’t need him, but you do. You both need each other, and you need to forgive each other.”
He made a noise that didn’t exactly sound like he agreed with her. “He’s got Cade.”
“Cade isn’t his son.”
“He’s gotten along just fine without me. You know what? I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, abruptly standing and walking over to the washer. He grabbed their clothes and then threw them into the dryer and turned it on. She resisted the urge to ask him to add a dryer sheet. He didn’t join her on the sofa again, and her stomach sank. He poked at the logs a few times, sparks flying out like fireworks. He couldn’t deal with his pain, but she wanted to help him—and Martin—even if it meant he got mad at her.
“You don’t want to talk about it because you don’t like talking about your feelings. But the truth is you’re hurt that he didn’t welcome you home with open arms. You’re hurt because your best friend is the ranch manager and a part of the family now. You’re hurt—”
“Hey, Lainey?” he said, his voice harsh, his eyes flashing. “I don’t need a lecture. I’m not a child you can chastise.”
She stood up, her hands on her hips. “Then you should stop behaving like one, because frankly you’re acting like a hurt child who doesn’t want to be bothered trying to make things better because it’s too difficult. I never knew my father. He didn’t give a crap to get to know me or to send money. Not a birthday card, a Christmas card, nothing. So when you sit here telling me that you don’t need a father, I get to say you’re wrong. You need your father. Everyone needs their father. Just like you’d want your mother here right now. Just like I’d want Tilly back. You should be grateful you have any family,” she said, hating that her voice cracked on that last sentence, and she reached for the bottle of whiskey. But his hand covered hers, and she held her breath, her stomach doing somersaults at his touch.
“You’re right,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t pull back, realizing she didn’t ever want to pull back from him. She wanted that warmth that he gave her, that security…the thrill, the rush, of being kissed by him. His gaze was on her mouth. She had one second to brace herself, and then he was there.
This time when he kissed her, it wasn’t the same. It was terrifying—in the best possible way—because he was kissing her as though he desperately needed her, as much as she needed him. He captured her mouth and explored and tasted and took as much as he gave. She sank into him, the surrender feeling so good. He must have noticed, too, because he gave a low groan that had a ripple effect through her chest. His hard body covered hers. She ran her hands up his arms, his biceps, over his shoulders, until she could thread them into his thick hair, desperate to keep him close.
She ignored the warning bells in her head to not let this go too far, because she also needed him. She had never needed anyone after her grandmother died. She had gone it alone. But Ty made her want so much more—he made her want him. It was too terrifying to think about the implications, so she didn’t. Instead, she just felt.
His strong body covered hers, and she let her instincts guide her; her instincts told her she needed to touch his bare skin.
“I won,” she whispered when his mouth began to trail kisses along her jawline and behind her ear.
“What?” he breathed against her skin.
“I won. I was right.” She groaned as he kissed the sensitive skin on the shell of her ear. “You…you admitted I was right.”
He was half laughing when he kissed her again, when his hands touched her bare legs, one of them under her shirt. Laughter was gone, and it was like he was everything and everywhere. She shoved his shirt up and over his head and almost passed out at all the warm skin her fingers were itching to explore. Her hands roamed along his rippled abs, adoring the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch. She stopped when she reached the button of his jeans.
The image of her pale hands on his darker skin, the feel of his hot, taut body under her touch was so new to her that she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want this moment to be over. Before things became awkward, he was kissing her again, his large, callused hand now moving under her shirt, over her naked body. She should stop. Now. It wasn’t fair, she wasn’t playing a fair game, and she was going to regret this tomorrow.
He pulled back for a brief moment as he looked at her, his blue eyes flashing, his jaw clenching. “Nah, Lainey, I’m pretty sure I won.”
She stared at the strong man towering over her, at the desire rolling like storm clouds in his eyes, at the body that was holding hers with such tenderness and passion, and knew she was in way over her head.
But she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
Her hands had a mind of their own as they traveled over the hard planes of his body, and she marveled over the heavily roped muscles, the smattering of hair, the way his breath caught as she ran her fingers down his chest and to the top of his jeans. Who was she? This wasn’t her. She had never gotten herself into a situation where she had no control.
She didn’t have time to figure out this new side of herself, because what she’d done with her hands on his body, he proceeded to do the same but with his mouth on hers. She didn’t even recognize the whimpers coming from her or the way her body moved with his mouth on it. But when he took her nipple in his mouth and she thought she was going to die from the sensation, something inside her went into self-preservation mode.
“Ty,” she breathed, her voice sounding hoarse with pleasure.
He groaned something, his mouth at her breast, his hand cupping her bottom.
He didn’t move, but she realized she was still clutching him. “Ty,” she said again, this time tugging at his hair gently.
He raised his head slowly, his eyes heavy, his jaw clenched. “Yeah? You okay?”
Her heart immediately squeezed at the concern in his voice, at the effort it was taking to not keep going. She shook her head, knowing what she was about to say would sound juvenile to him and that he would never in a million years understand. Tyler was a man, not a teenager.
He was everything she ever wanted, and she was going to tell him no. Her gaze was locked on his, and she shook her head.
He stilled, and the seconds felt like hours. His jaw began clenching and unclenching, and she swallowed and said the only true thing she was willing to admit.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t going to cry, but she really wanted to, because right now she was the definition of idiot.
“What are you saying?”
She shook her head as hot tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He ducked his head and slowly moved off her and to the edge of the couch. He sat there for a moment. There were no words exchanged, and the only sound in the cabin was the crackling of the fire.
He stood abruptly and then walked over to the kitchenette and straight for the whiskey. He poured himself a shot and swung it back. She was trying not to weep over the man she just rejected, since that was like the poster girl for how to never get a man.
She slowly got up but didn’t know where to go. The whiskey kind of seemed like
a good coping mechanism. “Are you still sharing?” she asked, her voice sounding shaky to her own ears. He didn’t answer her right away, and then he slowly turned around and leaned against the counter.
This had to go down as the most humiliating night of her life. Humiliating and stupid. She was an idiot for losing control like that, for not warning him. He stood there looking hot and frustrated.
She needed to leave. It was the only way.
He wasn’t even speaking to her. He wasn’t even sharing his whiskey. She stood, tugging on his shirt, finding the modesty that had clearly escaped her when his hands were roaming her naked body not five minutes ago.
How had she let herself do this? She was keeping secrets, something she’d never done before. It was like she was turning into another person. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, glancing over at the dryer. “If my clothes are ready, I think I should leave.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tyler didn’t think himself a promiscuous sort of guy, but he’d had enough women to know that this wasn’t how the night was supposed to end. He knew how to read women, he knew how to give a woman what she needed, and he had always managed to leave a woman very happy. So tonight was a complete mystery, or the woman in front of him trying to stretch his T-shirt to cover her knees was a mystery to him.
Maybe it was more than that, because Lainey wasn’t just any woman. Lainey was the only woman he wanted more than just a night with. Lainey was a woman who had him dreaming about all the things he had no business dreaming about. He knew they’d be good in bed. He knew they’d have chemistry that was off the charts, and tonight had proven it.
He couldn’t get enough of her.
He had forced himself to take it slow, to not rush, but the feel of her body under his, the sweet sounds she made, the way she’d clung to him, had made it painful to go slow.
And it had almost killed him to stop. Of course, he would have done anything for her, but it had come out of nowhere. He’d thought they were on the same page, that they felt the same things.
Staring at her from across the cabin now, he didn’t know what to think. Her face was red, and she seemed shy and vulnerable.
He was going to have to get a grip or risk being an asshole. He poured her a glass and crossed the room to the couch, holding her glass out.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she walked over to join him. The minute her fingers grazed his hands, tears sprang into her eyes, and his frustration abated at the sight. “What it is, Lainey? What happened?”
She sniffled loudly, took the glass, and downed it. She waved a hand in front of her face and winced. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He sighed and shrugged, falling back onto the sofa. “You don’t have to apologize.”
She sat down, too, but huddled into the opposite corner. “I do. I let it go too far. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I do. I was actually thinking I’d be able to sleep with you.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted, so he reached for the only friend he’d had in the last eight years and poured himself another glass. “You know, it has been done before.”
The red in her cheeks deepened, and a small laugh escaped her lips. She rested her head against the sofa cushions and gave him a small smile. “I…I know, Ty. I just haven’t done it before.”
He didn’t know whether she meant she hadn’t done it before with him…or hadn’t done it before…at all. Right now, he wasn’t sure what was worse. He cleared his throat and tried to appear approachable and not like he was going to either weep or smash his fist through the wall with sexual frustration. “What exactly does that mean?”
She frowned and scooted a little farther into the corner, almost to the point that it appeared as though she was burrowing for the winter. “Do you think you could fill up my glass again?”
Uh-oh. That couldn’t be good. “Are you sure you’re keeping track of how many shots you’ve had?” he asked.
“It’s fine; I grew up on whiskey.” He didn’t argue with her. He obliged and waited while she finished off her shot. Really, the woman’s ability to slug back whiskey was pretty surprising. He propped his legs up on the coffee table, crossing one ankle over the other. He should probably settle in, because she didn’t seem like she was in any hurry to talk, and quite frankly he needed to get his thoughts out of the bedroom. Hopefully the whiskey would help.
“Better?” he asked when she placed her empty glass on the coffee table.
She winced, a funny expression on her face as she stared at him. And dammit if those brown eyes of hers didn’t tug at heartstrings he wasn’t used to. She had eyes that could make him say yes to whatever it was she was selling. She brought out this protective side of him that he didn’t know what to do with. “So, um, I really didn’t expect to be in this position,” she said finally.
“What position?”
She waved a hand in the empty space between them. “Like, as in, you and me. On a couch in a remote cabin with a fire and whiskey and no clothes.”
He fought the urge to smile just in case she’d assume he was making fun of her. He thought she was going to continue speaking, but she didn’t. She just stared at him expectantly. He quickly searched for something to say that would put her at ease. “Would it help you to know that I’ve imagined us on a couch without clothes for a long time?”
She threw a pillow in his direction. He caught it, laughing, relieved to see that she was at least smiling again. “I’m not sure what to say to that,” she said, still smiling.
“Take it as a compliment,” he said.
“I was slightly concerned you were going to be mad at me,” she whispered, that expression coming back in her eyes.
“For stopping?”
She nodded.
He sighed and ran a hand over his jaw then offered her another smile. “Not mad. Sad. Very, very sad.”
She laughed again, and dammit if he wasn’t becoming addicted to that sound and the sight of her smile. “That’s dramatic.”
He shook his head. “Nah,” he said, turning serious. “There wasn’t an ounce of me that didn’t want you. Or doesn’t want you right now.”
She swallowed audibly, and her gaze went from his eyes to his mouth and then traveled the length of his body before meeting his eyes again. “Me too,” she whispered.
“So then what’s the problem, sweetheart?” he asked, the endearment slipping from his mouth effortlessly.
She tucked her knees up against her chest, somehow managing to make some kind of modest lower-half tent, and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’m worried if I tell you, you’re going to run. Or laugh at me.”
Hell. He had no idea what to expect now. He made sure to keep his features neutral. “I would never laugh at you. C’mon, Lainey. Out with it,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. It seemed like such a natural thing to do, even though he surprised them both.
She gave a nod. “Okay. So, um, I’ve never actually slept with anyone before.”
He kept staring at her, poker face on as a thousand questions barreled through his mind. He blinked and nodded slowly, like he understood, like he wasn’t surprised.
“Okay, you don’t have to pretend it’s not a big deal. Now that I’ve said it, I can’t take it back, so you might as well say what you’re really thinking,” she said, starting to appear slightly miffed.
Dangerous territory. Her statement was kind of a trap. A Lainey trap. He cleared his throat. “I think it is a big deal. Not in a bad way, but it’s not what I was expecting.”
Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and a jolt of panic hit him. He didn’t know what to do with Lainey tears. He didn’t like them. He didn’t like the idea of her being upset or that he was somehow the cause of her being upset.
“Also, I should probably tell you, in case this were to ever move forward, that I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone.”
Hell. This was going from bad to worse. It was li
ke his worst nightmare.
“I knew it,” she groaned. He was relieved that at least she didn’t look like she was going to cry anymore. In fact, her eyes were now narrowed on him.
He walked over to the fireplace and poked it a little too harshly, judging by the sparks that almost hit his bare chest. He didn’t turn around right away. “So are you going to become a nun?” he asked finally, turning around.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her. “No. What I mean is that I’m not going to sleep with anyone before I’m married.”
Oh. Oh. He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. I hear there are people who do that.”
“Are you kidding me?”
He shrugged again. “What?”
“I tell you that I’m not going to sleep with you—or anyone—until I get married, and you tell me that you’ve heard people do that?”
So, inside he was kind of reeling. He was disappointed. Really, wholeheartedly disappointed. He hadn’t for one second assumed she was a virgin. Or even worse, a virgin determined to wait until she was married to have sex. It was something he didn’t get, and he didn’t know how to say that without insulting her. “I don’t know what to say, Lainey. Other than the fact that I might cry myself to sleep for the next year.”
Something flickered across her eyes—something that made him uncomfortable. Like, maybe if he were another guy, this would have ended differently, with some kind of hope they had a future. But he wasn’t that guy, and they both knew it.
“Well, thanks for your honesty. I’m sorry I let things go that far without telling you. I won’t let it happen again.”
Shit. He hung his head. Her voice was so damn polite, and yet it sounded like she was on the brink of tears. She rose from the couch abruptly.
“Do you think my clothes are dry yet? I really need to get back to town.”
He stood, and somehow they seemed miles apart in the small cabin. Her face was red, her hair was disheveled, his shirt rumpled, and he knew she was fighting to hold on to her pride.
The Trouble with Cowboys Page 18