Page 99 of Bloom

“So weird.” Luna props her elbow on the table, chin in her hand and a knowing gleam brightening blue eyes. “How on earth does a girl get dried paint in her hair, hm?”

I feel like I’m burning alive. “Must’ve knocked my head.”

Eliza—sweet, young Eliza—damn near chokes on a laugh. “Hunter must’ve knocked his head too.”

My gaze snaps to the man in question where he leans against the counter, talking to Jackson. Squinting, I can just barely make out something red sprinkled in his dark locks.

Crap, crap, crap.

Tongue-tied, I scramble to come up with a reasonable, believable excuse. “Uh, well—”

“Line?”

The interruption is a fleeting relief. I should’ve known Lux wouldn’t be my savior—she and her terrifying toothy grin are the freaking ringleader.

I swallow. “Yeah?”

“You wanna share why there’s a pair of panties hanging out of Hunter’s back pocket?”

29

One phone call ruins his day.

One sweet, nervous smile fixes it.

I should’ve knownthat the universe would only grant me one, perfect day before slapping me back down again.

When I asked if we could talk about things later, I meant the next day. Maybe even later that night, if my bravery survived that long. I did not, by any means, think an entire conversation-less week would pass by—a Hunter-less week, for the most part.

Turns out, that fateful, transformative storm did a little more than trap us in an abandoned building for an afternoon. It wreaked a little havoc too; knocked down some trees and fences, spooked a few fragile horses, and left a hell of a lot of work to do on the ranch. Tiring, time-consuming work that takes all day, and leaves me with nothing but sporadic stolen moments, nothing more than fleeting touches and lingering glances.

I might be losing it a little. A lot, if I’m being honest.

I’m such a jittery, desperate mess that when the front door swings open, I almost break my damn neck twisting to see who it is.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Oscar Jackson saunters into the kitchen, disappointing me for reasons that have nothing to do with the head he stoops to kiss. Hands landing on his girlfriend’s shoulders, he eyes her current task warily. “You’re cooking?”

Luna pauses peeling potatoes to fix him with a glare. “Yes.”

Jackson’s amused gaze flits to me. “Under strict supervision, right?”

His quip ends in a grunt as an elbow meets his thigh—not quite the body part Luna was targeting, I suspect. “Be nice or you’re not getting fed.”

I don’t flush and look away because Jackson whispers something that turns Luna’s cheeks pink—I flush and look away because I remember another man doing the same to me.

I already ate.

I can’t believe I let that happen. Encouraged it.Beggedfor it. A brief possession by a very horny demon with zero inhibitions about semi-public sexual acts is the only explanation. I amsonot a public person. Like, at all. A heated kiss in the general vicinity of other people is enough to stress me out—Jackson tried to make out with me in the cinema once and I freaked out so bad, I bit his tongue.

Yet there I was, getting eaten out a stone’s throw away from a house full of people without a care in the world. Withaggressiveenthusiasm.

And here I am now. Mentally back there again. Thinking about it. Blushing about it. Fiddling with the dress I definitely didn’t wear on purpose and clenching beard-burned thighs that vividly remember being wrapped about a broad waist, and trying not to wonder when it’s going to happen again.Ifit’s goingto happen again. If the damage to the ranch has been wildly exaggerated, and Hunter is actually just avoiding me.

That thought is always a particularly loud one. So loud, it drowns out the creak of the front door opening again, the heavy footfalls approaching me, the first quiet murmur of my name.

It’s not until a chest bumps my shoulder, a hand settles low on my back, a pair of soft lips lightly brush my temple, that my attention jolts from the bell peppers I’m meticulously slicing to the man suddenly at my side. Another large hand engulfs mine, the one gripping a knife, and prevents me from doing something clumsily on-brand like accidentally chopping my finger off. “Careful, honey.”

Blowing out a flustered breath, I set the knife down and turn towards Hunter, inadvertently ending up a hell of a lot closer than I intended. My neck screams in protest with how far back I have to crank it to meet his amused gaze. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

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