Page 50 of Impossible Love

Cal

It’s all I can do not to lower my lips to the top of her hair and kiss her there, let myself linger in the silky sweetness of her, inhale that flowery, rich scent of her skin.

It’s hard not to.

I’m hard.

This whole fucking situation is impossible.

Victoria is tucked snugly between my thighs. I’ve got the reins to Trixie loose in my left hand while I reach around her body with my right, holding the reins to my trusted Paint. Leroy’s gentle walk rocks us forward and back. I feel the sensual sway of her ass up against me as we make steady progress back to the barn.

But it’s torture. Having her this tight and close and not being free to do all the things I want to do to her, it’s just flat-out fucking torture. Her breathing is changing, coming quick and shallow now, and I can tell that it’s torture for her, too.

What is happening here? How are we going to make it out of this situation with our agendas—and our hearts—intact?

As we approach the barn, Joe meets us and takes Trixie to her stall. I instruct Victoria to gently hold Leroy’s reins as I dismount. I reach up for her, and she spins in the saddle and dismounts into my arms. I don’t know if I’m doing it on purpose or if I have her help, but the front of her body slides down my front until her feet hit the ground. Her eyes are full of hunger as she looks up at me—then she looks away, as if she’s embarrassed.

Joe clears his throat behind me.

“Thanks.” I hand Leroy’s reins to Joe. “What’s happening at the main house?” I ask him.

“Some kind of party.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Got me.”

I walk with Victoria to the house, and her hand brushes against mine. Yet again, I’m wondering—am I willing this to happen? Is it an accident? Is she hitting on me? And at this point, I’m not even sure it fucking matters. I grab her hand and lace my fingers with hers.

I was in high school the last time I was this nervous about holding a girl’s hand. What does that tell me?

I’m fucked. Royally fucked.

I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.

As we draw closer, I get a better picture of what’s happening. It’s a full-blown MacLaine cookout, complete with party lights, music, and steaks and burgers on Dad’s beloved outdoor gas grill, a piece of equipment I’m pretty sure he loves as much as he loves his boys.

I already hear hootin’ and hollerin’ and laughter.

“Something smells amazing,” Victoria says.

It’s her. She’s what smells amazing, and I’m getting drunk on it.

“Steak.” I squeeze her hand tight. “But remember when you asked me the other day if it was always this crazy around here?”

“Yeah. You said that sometimes it’s even worse.”

“This is what I was referring to.”

She nods, smiling. “I can handle it.”

And that’s the worst part—I know she can. She’s shown me that she can go with the flow. That she’s able to handle any twist and turn. Why does that piss me off so much?

I drop her hand just in time.

“Yo! Look who it is!” Everyone turns to see what Special K’s yelling about. The crowd watches us walk up the stairs to the back deck.

“We were just about to send a search party to look for you two crazy kids!” Declan says, raising a beer in our direction.

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