Page 30 of Broken Roads
I consider finding another shirt, but the thought of fabric against my sensitized skin is suddenly unbearable. Instead, I sink to the floor, back against the bed, knees pulled to my bare chest in a defensive posture that feels like the only thing holding me together.
What is wrong with me? I came here to do a job. To help save Walker Ranch, to prove to myself I'm still capable of building something instead of just destroying. I didn't come here to develop whatever this is for the last person on earth I should be attracted to.
Because that's what this is, isn't it? Attraction. Pure and simple and complicated all at once.
I close my eyes, but it only makes things worse. In the darkness behind my lids, I see him again. Filling the doorway, shadows playing across the planes of his face, and finally that moment when annoyance gave way to something heated and hungry. I feel the brush of his body against mine as I passed him, the brief, electric contact that shouldn't have affected me so deeply but somehow reached into my core and ignited something I thought I'd buried.
My fingers dig into my bare shins, nails leaving crescent marks in the skin. I should be thinking about tomorrow's presentation on updating the ranch's booking system. Should be going over figures and projections and ROI calculations. Should be doing anything except sitting half-naked on my bedroom floor, obsessing over a man who'd probably rather I disappear completely.
Resting my forehead against my knees, my hair falls around me like a curtain, shielding me from a world that suddenly feels too complicated. My heart rate gradually slows, but the tensionin my body refuses to dissipate entirely. It coils within me, a spring wound too tight, waiting for release that won't come.
Outside my window, the Montana night continues, indifferent to my crisis. Stars wheel across the vast sky, cattle shift in distant fields, and somewhere in this house, Bradley Walker is either cursing the moment our paths crossed or fighting the same unwelcome attraction that's currently tearing me apart.
I don't know which possibility terrifies me more.
Chapter 12
Bradley
The water pounds against my skin, hot enough to turn it red, but it does nothing to wash away the memory of last night. Of her. Standing in the kitchen with water soaking through her thin white t-shirt, arms crossed over her chest in a failed attempt at modesty. My fingers curl into fists against the shower wall, muscles tensing as I fight against the image burned into my mind. This is insanity. She's the last woman I should be thinking about, but my body has other ideas.
Steam rises around me, filling the bathroom until I can barely see through the haze. I close my eyes, but that's worse. In the darkness, she's there again. Hailey with her wet shirt clinging to every curve, nipples hard and visible through the translucent fabric. The way her eyes widened when she saw me in the doorway. The flush that spread across her cheeks and down her neck.
"Fuck," I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool tile.
I went into town last night looking for a distraction. The Rusted Spur was packed with the usual crowd—locals nursingbeers, a few tourists trying to get an authentic Montana experience. Jenny, the bartender, gave me that look she always does when I come in alone. An invitation I've accepted more than once over the years. It would have been easy. A few whiskeys, some casual conversation that we both knew was just a prelude, and then back to her place for an uncomplicated release.
But I couldn't do it. Couldn't even bring myself to approach her. Every woman I looked at in that bar seemed wrong somehow. Hair too blonde. Laugh too forced. Eyes not quite the right shade of hazel.
So I left. Drove back to the ranch with tension coiled in my gut and a hardness between my legs that refused to subside. And then, like some cruel cosmic joke, there she was. Standing in the kitchen at three in the morning, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and sleep shorts that revealed miles of smooth, pale legs.
My cock stirs at the memory, hardening despite my best efforts to think about anything else. The water streams down my back, hot rivulets tracing paths that my hands wish to follow on her skin.
"This is fucking ridiculous," I growl, adjusting the temperature colder.
She's barely been here more than a week, and already she's crawled under my skin and taken up residence in thoughts that have no business dwelling on her. I've made it clear she doesn't belong here, that her city ideas and polished presentation skills won't change anything about how we run this ranch. And yet, when she stood in that kitchen, water dripping down her shirt, all I could think about was closing the distance between us. Pressing her against the counter and showing her exactly what she does to me.
My hand drifts down my stomach, fingers wrapping around my length almost of their own accord. I'm rock hard, thememory of her too vivid to ignore. The way her breath caught when our eyes met. The slight parting of her lips, so pink and full and perfect for wrapping around—
No. I shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be standing in my shower thinking about Hailey while I stroke myself. It's wrong on too many levels to count.
But my hand doesn't stop. If anything, my grip tightens, movements growing more deliberate as I imagine what would have happened if I'd given in to the urge that coursed through me last night.
I would have crossed the kitchen in two strides. Would have backed her against the counter and tangled my fingers in that dark hair before tugging her head back to expose the column of her throat. Would have tasted her skin, traced the path of her pulse with my tongue until she gasped my name.
My rhythm falters at the fantasy, breath coming in short, harsh pants that echo against the shower walls. It's not enough. Not nearly enough.
My eyes snap open, immediately landing on her shampoo bottle. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach for it and flip the cap open. The scent hits me instantly—berries and vanilla and something so uniquely her. My nostrils flare, drinking it in as I squeeze a dollop into my palm.
It’s cool against my heated skin as I spread it over my length. My eyes fall shut again, the fantasy shifting. Now I imagine her pressed against the shower wall, legs wrapped around my waist as I drive into her, over and over again.
The berry scent surrounds me, filling my senses until I can almost believe she's here. My movements grow faster, more desperate. Pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with each stroke. I bite my lower lip to keep from making a sound, even though the rush of water would drown out anything less than a shout.
"Hailey," I breathe, the name a confession and a curse wrapped into one.
Release hits me like a lightning strike, sudden and all-consuming. My body tenses, muscles locking as pleasure rips through me in waves. White-hot ecstasy pulses along every nerve ending, momentarily wiping my mind clean of everything except sensation. For a few blissful seconds, there's nothing but the relentless pleasure and her name echoing in my head.
Then reality crashes back, bringing shame in its wake.
