Page 29 of For Fillies and Monsters

He pulls upin a green pickup, rust trimming the fenders and underbelly, a small silver trailer bumping along behind it. Unlike Nathan’s, this one looks like a work truck, and I honestly like the worn, old look better; seems more honest, somehow.

I suck in a ragged breath, my body sluggish and mind fuzzy. I’m exhausted from laying awake all night, but it was worth it at least. After meeting the man yesterday, I couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity, and that it was important for me to figure outhow I know him.Tossing and turning as night faded into day, I finally solved the mystery—he was the same dark figure from the bar a couple of weeks ago. Whether it is his dark aura or that flash of perfectly white teeth, I know it’s him—all the way to my bones.

Although I’m feeling triumphant in my realization, it’s only stirring up more questions. Does he not recognize me? Or does he recognize me, but simply not care? If that’s the case, did I make up the entire encounter? Am I really that horny for mysterious men than I imagined the electric tension between us? And most importantly, can I work with him and be attracted to him?

I snap from my spiraling thoughts. Because yes, I am goingtohaveto, even if I don’t want to. I need the help, and for whatever reason, he seems eager, albeit salty, to help. I’m going to take it, even if I feel like I’m walking a livewire every time I even think about his voice or the way he looks in his jeans prowling toward me. I can’t risk messing up this opportunity to have help turning around my ranch—I won’t. It’s too important to me.

But as he steps out of the truck, his lean body rippling with the movement, I have to pinch my thigh to fight off the demon already bouncing like a giddy teenager on my shoulder.Strictly professional—I can do this.

His dark hair glitters in the morning sunshine, but he quickly smothers it, pulling a black cowboy hat down over the curls. They push over his ears and flatten over his forehead and eyes. It’s not an erotic gesture by any means, but my pussy pulses all the same.

Fucking hell!

I never got his name yesterday, or any other personal information, which seems like an awful start to an already explosive arrangement. That being said, beggars can’t be choosers, and I will damn near beg this man at this point.

For his help—nothing else.

He stops only a few feet in front of me, his eyes wandering over the decrepit house looming behind me. I instinctively stretch out my hand, my practiced monologue running through my head one final time—Hi, I’m Stetson. Sorry I didn’t get your name yesterday. By the way, pissed off men don’t do well around me; they either end up six feet under or in my bed—neither of which is a good option for you. So, how about we plaster on friendly attitudes and work together like professionals?

Even as I think of the words, I snort. There’s no way I will be able to say that. But I have to say something. He’s eyeing my hand now, and my ajar jaw, like I’ve had a stroke and he’s notsure what to do. Which is fair—I don’t have a fucking clue what to do, either. How do I save this?

“I realized I never got your name yesterday.” My voice comes out like a plume of stale air, and I hate myself for it. Based on his deepening scowl, shifting his features from confused to pissed, I’d say he hates me for it too.

What did I do to him again?

“Gus.” It’s a single word, no explanation, no friendly banter. Nothing. Just three little letters, but knowing his name somehow feels monumental. Like two continents shifting, a ripple in the rest of the world that will be felt forever, changing the way I exist from here on out.

“Gus. I’m Stetson.” I silently curse myself as my hand trembles, still hanging embarrassingly between us.

His eyes reluctantly tear from the tattered house and scour over my warming face. He looks down at my hand again, but makes no move to accept the gesture, and I can’t help but hope the world explodes at this very moment.

God, if you can hear me, I’m ready to go. I’ve seen enough.

I’m mortified, but also stubborn, and I refuse to lose this silent battle of wills, even if it’s the last straw between me and my dignity. He huffs, his annoyance washing over me, and I cock my hips in silent challenge.

Fuck this guy.

Sensing my growing defiance, and maybe even my psychotic obsession with trouble, he reaches out his hand and firmly grips my own. Sparks shoot up my arm, causing my skin to pebble with the electric current funneling from his raspy, callused hand rubbing against my skin.

How would these hands feel running over my arms, my breasts, my thighs, my pussy?I groan inwardly, my eyes fluttering shut as I try to dispel the unwanted thoughts.

As if hearing them and finding them unwanted himself,he yanks his hand from mine, and I open my eyes with a gasp. He steps back, and I can’t help but notice his eyes looking anywhere but at me.Did he feel that, too? Did he hate it for the same reasons I do?

I bite my lip, nerves and embarrassment consuming my stomach. The action causes his flinty eyes to snap to my lips, his pupils expanding to consume the ring around them. His nostrils flare, and I have the sudden urge to run. Is he going to jump me? Is he really as turned on by me as I am by him? His scowl turns into a snarl—lips pulled back over those perfectly white teeth—and I shiver, unable to repress my body’s reaction.

This is madness!I’m supposed to be strictly professional, he’s supposed to hate me, and I’m supposed to be his boss. But as I tick off each one of those reminders in my head, they do nothing to cool my violent arousal.

Being his boss and him hating me, are the makings of a very degrading porno. And I want to have a front-row seat.

I wipe my forehead with my arm; anything to break the vibrating tension around us. I suck in another shaky breath through my nose and out through my mouth.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

Once I’ve slowed my erratic heart just a fraction, I look back at Gus, his piercing gaze sending chills across my skin. He looks like he finds me, or this situation,or both, foul and disgusting. But underneath his obvious disdain, I can see that caged beast. The one that has an appetite for those foul and disgusting things; the one licking its lips for a single taste.

I fiddle with my long braid, pulling it over my shoulder. I’m not the kind to get nervous around a guy, but damn. He’s as intimidating as they come, and my body’s unwanted reaction to him seems to only piss him off more.

He growls, stepping toward me. “When are we starting?”Straightto the point.

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