Page 3 of Ruger
“What is it?” he asks very seriously, which only makes me laugh harder. When I look at him, the anxious look on his face softens. “Is there something wrong with the magazines?”
“No, no,” I say, reigning in my giggles. “It’s just…” I hold out the motorcycle magazines, gesturing between him and them. “I’m just not surprised this is what you had on hand when I asked for something to read.”
His shoulders relax a little, and he gives me a smile that lights me up from the inside out. Ruger says, “I’m not much of a reader. I’m not even sure how old those are.”
“Let’s see,” I murmur, looking for the publishing date. “Ruger! These are four years old.”
“I told you I don’t read much,” he says defensively, though he’s still wearing the remnants of that smile. “What are you, some kind of reading expert?”
“I am, actually,” I say, holding the magazines against my chest. I don’t want him taking them back – I might think it’s funny that this is what I’ve been given, but I’m always willing to expand my reading horizons. “I’m a librarian.”
“No shit?” he asks with a chuckle. “Well, maybe you can recommend something for me to read.”
“Sounds like a fun task,” I admit thoughtfully. “I’ll get on that the next time that I’m at work.”
“I’d really appreciate that,” he says.
“I’m happy to do it,” I say with a shrug. “Besides, you’re letting me stay here. I think the least I can do for you is find you something you’d enjoy. I know you said you’re not a reader, but I’ll use these as research to figure out what I should pick out.”
“Seems like you take your job pretty seriously,” he says with a playful lilt.
How is this giant, muscular man so charming? It’s not fair. Everything about him is perfect. He’s like a man out of a romance novel. Men like him don’t exist in real life, do they? I mean, obviously they do; Ruger’s standing right here in front of me.
“You okay?” he asks.
Oh no. I’ve been staring and lost in my thoughts about him. I’malreadyembarrassing myself in front of him. At this rate I’m going to combust by the end of the week.
“I’m fine,” I promise. Because I am. A little flustered, sure. But I’ve been worse. “These last few days have just been… a lot.”
“That makes sense,” he says, sympathy underneath that unpolished exterior. “I’m sure your brother getting locked up is hard enough. Now you’re in a new place.”
“Exactly,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe most of my weirdness can just be explained away. “I’ll be okay, though.”
“You’re a tough girl,” he says decisively. “You will be.”
My heart flutters in my chest. I’m overcome with the urge to dosomething, but I’m too inexperienced to know what. My palms practically itch with the desire to reach out to him, so I grip onto the magazines tighter.
“Well, I’m going to let you get settled in,” Ruger says after a beat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you need anything at all, my room is right down the hall. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you again,” I say, moving forward before I can think about it too hard. “For everything.”
Then, because I’m apparently not in control of my body right now, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips against his stubble-ridden cheek. I pull away just as quickly as I initiated the contact, blushing all the way to the tips of my ears. I’m unable to look him in the eyes. Apparently, that’s as far as my bravery goes.
Ruger lingers for a long second, and I’m sure he’s going to say something. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or horrified when he walks out of the room without another word, closing my door softly behind himself.
Once I’m alone, I sink down onto the bed, setting the magazines beside me. I bury my flaming face in my hands and force myself to take deep breaths. Only one thought runs through my mind for the next ten minutes.
What the heck am I going to do?
Chapter 3
Ruger
I stand outside of Marigold’s room for longer than I care to admit. My cock is hard as a rock from the slight bit of attention she gave me. It was only a kiss on the cheek, but my body is reacting like her lips were around my dick.
I’m fucked. I’m so fucked. Keeping my hands to myself might be fucking impossible. I’m already walking an extremely thin line here. I shouldn’t be so attracted to Marigold. Not only is she my best friend’s little sister whom I’ve been charged with taking care of, she’s damn near half my age. What the hell could a nineteen year-old want with a thirty-five year-old?
For some twisted reason, the thought of our age difference makes my cock ache. There’s no way that my hard-on is going down on its own. I can’t get my thoughts under control, and even when I try, I only want her more.
