Page 18 of Blood and Magic
“Sol didn’t tell you?” He furrowed his brows, looking so damned confused and adorable, I nearly couldn’t help myself from reaching over to smooth out the wrinkles.
“Tell me what?”
“I’m replacing Orion for the next two months while he’s away,” he explained.
“Yeah, she mentioned that.” I rubbed my tired eyes, my mind struggling to keep up with the conversation and his frustratingly overwhelming presence. He took up every space he occupied. He sucked the air out of my lungs like he had a vacuum on my soul. “Why you?”
His eyes hardened, and the mahogany turned to a darker shade of brown, nearly matching his black coffee.
Realizing how mean that sounded, I shook my head and tried again. “No, I’m sorry. I mean…don’t you have better things to do than run a ranch for people you hate?”
“Hate’s a strong word.” He glanced at the table where he fiddled with the corner of a silk napkin. “I’d do anything for Orion. He’s family. So is Sol…after yesterday.”
“And Guin?” I couldn’t stop the words from tripping over my lips.
He met my gaze. “What about Guin?”
“Weren’t you two like…together or something?”
“What’s it matter to you?” His tone had dropped into a grumpy snarl, like he was annoyed at having to be around me and angry about the whole thing.
“It doesn’t,” I said.
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine,” I barked back.
Silence fell on us again, and heat bloomed across my cheeks at my outburst, spreading down my neck and into my chest. He continued to look at me, his stare burning holes through my skin like he could see all the way to my humiliation. I didn’t care what it was between him and Guin, I really didn’t. I’d seen them talking yesterday. She made him smile, and he made her laugh, and she’d touched his arm like she had a right to his entire body.
The way he’d held me surged back through my molecules, reminding me of the blazing electricity between us. I had wanted to devour every inch of him. I wanted him to do the same to me. In retrospect, that might have been the shot of whiskey going to my head.
I blinked back my shame and gulped my coffee, much too hot for my throat, burning down to my gut.
“I need you to look over the cattle rotation,” he said, placing a folder on the desk. “And we’ve received a new stallion that needs to be broken. Do you want me to continue training him or sell him?” He explained a few other things that required my sign-off before pushing the paper stack across the table. I grabbed it with too much force, and my fingertips brushed against his at the center. That same zing of fireworks shot through my arm, into my chest, and settled at my heart. I gasped and yanked my hand back.
Mill didn’t react, just raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just…static, I guess.” I shifted my hips and opened the folder, glancing over the documents. I had only a passing understanding of what needed to be done on the ranch. I’d spent most of my privileged life sheltered from the harsh realities of running one, always away at boarding schools or college. Now an adult, I worked in an office. Putting on denims and a cowboy hat and shearing sheep had never been a part of my plan.
But I trusted Sol, and she trusted Orion, who ultimately trusted Mill. Perhaps, deep down, if I were honest with myself, I had once trusted him, too, and wanted to again.
“This all looks…acceptable.” I nodded and closed the folder again.
“Great,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
He grabbed his hat and put it on his head, heading toward the door to leave. But the thought of being alone suddenly caught up to me. Ava had left for Paris early this morning. Guin had gone back to Bozeman last night. Sol and Orion were long gone on their honeymoon. Galahad had left early to return to school.
I was alone in this big old mansion.
“Mill,” I said, stopping him.
He turned to face me.
The urge to ask him to dine with me tomorrow and every day until my family returned perched on the tip of my tongue. But that would be stupid, certainly one of the most ridiculous notions I’d ever had. He likely had better things to do than waste his time with me.
What? I couldn’t suffer a few weeks of dining by myself? What would my father think? He didn’t raise us to be happy. He raised us to be strong.
“Thank you,” I said instead. “For doing this.”
