Page 12 of Wild Heart
I’ve never heard that weird phrase before. For some reason my lips quirk, but I won’t allow myself to laugh because that will lead to girly giggles, wrong impressions, a loose towel and sex, lots of hot fucking sex.
“Wind your own neck in… yourself,” I say it back awkwardly.
Summer sucks her lips between her teeth, and I think she’s going to laugh until I say, “You can’t leave now. I’m taking you home, and I’m busy until later. Anyway, you’re awake now, so you can get to work cleaning the kitchen.” I fist my hands, feeling the electrified air crackle between us. There’s a hint of desperation in my tone. I don’t think she detects it because she’s more concerned with gathering her clothes from the floor. Right now, I feel like an ass. It’s hard to resist temptation when it’s a package of perfection standing in my room, beside my bed. I doubt any other man would be as well-disciplined as I’m battling to be right now. I’m trying, really trying to leave.
As she dips down, I beg the towel to rise up a little bit higher so I can catch a glimpse of the good stuff, but she lowers down discreetly.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me?” Her lips pout. “If I thought you’d get all territorial about me showering in your house, I would’ve hosed myself down in Sawyer’s yard instead,” she adds with a challenging look.
“I didn’t expect to find you almost...” I cross my arms, choosing not to say the word naked.
“I didn’t expect you to come back so soon,” she counters, her eyes landing on my biceps.
“Right.” There’s a silent impasse. Her lower lip indents under her top teeth, and my palm wraps my belt buckle. “Get dressed, Summer. I’ll make you lunch before I go back out again.” I give her long legs one last subtle sweep and turn away with a forced scowl on my face.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
I pace the tiled floor beside the breakfast table, knowing the petite blue-eyed woman is getting dressed in my room - and sending my sex drive off the fucking charts.
Sawyer wants me to keep my hands off of her.
My father advised me to keep clear of her.
Summer is off limits, and I need to be man enough to leave it at that.
9
I’d awakenin a stranger’s bed, alone but not out of place. His mattress was so big and comfy, like the luxurious beds in a five-star hotel, or a big bouncy cloud of dreams. The sheets were fresh and scented with a belly flipping manly musk. On the nightstand, a tray balanced very close to the edge. It had a full plate of scrambled eggs and a few slices of bright red tomato carefully decorating the circumference. It was clearly a man’s portion, but with every effort made to look appealing. I’d picked at the tomato and then noticed a solitary pretty flower laying on the tray, as blue as the sky outside the window. The gesture brought a smile to my lips and an odd pinch to my heart.
Hayden had shown me kindness, unlike the men back home. They’re only interested in hooking up with Summer Brady because I’m the good looking, rich, popular girl who’ll adorn their arm for the night like a lucky charm. I don’t usually mind that set up. It’s fun and non-committal. I’m young and have zero intentions of settling down anytime soon.
That being said, a guy has never made me breakfast in bed before or got me into his bed without making a move. It’s definitely a first, and I’m surprised at how much I like it.
I knew the house was empty, or so I thought. I took the opportunity to prance around his room. There were freshly painted walls, neat and tidy drawers and a towering wardrobe fit for a man as tall as Hayden. Then I’d found his adjoining shower room with the softest towels and Hayden scented body wash. It took me by surprise that a big, hunky, macho man like him would have baby soft towels.
Warm, welcoming water sluiced over my weary limbs and I lathered myself in a minty swamp of bubbles, all the while thinking of the rugged, handsome boss who let me sleep in his bed. I couldn’t quite fathom how he was so… different. Perhaps it’s his height and square jaw, or even his walk. Damn, that swagger has a sureness in every step that gives the impression he knows exactly what to do in the bedroom and outside of it. His upright posture, sexy American twang hanging off every syllable, brawny golden muscles, and not to mention his eyes that focus on me like everything else is invisible; they all tie together to make the outstanding package that is Hayden Taylor.
So when he barged into the room and found me soaking wet and half dressed, I was shocked - shocked and disappointed that he didn’t come on to me.
I quickly dry off and redress, sliding my feet back into my white Gucci shoes. Exhaling a slow breath of nervous energy, I reluctantly leave his room behind. I’d rather sleep in his blissful surroundings than my hard bed in the dusty old barn. I think Sawyer stuffed the mattress with horsehair or dollar bills. I’m doubting the latter, given his humble abode.
When I reach the kitchen, the table is set with two plates and two tall glasses of creamy milk. Hayden is seated, until he looks up with those stunning green eyes rimmed with long lashes. His glance disarms me, and I fiddle with my hair. He stands on ceremony. “I know you don’t eat bread, so there’s some sliced beef and a glass of milk.” His head nods. “Those are clean tennis shoes,” he adds with a smirk.
“Tennis shoes? These aren’t tennis shoes - they’re Gucci. I’m not the sporty type. Maybe badminton, but definitely not tennis.”
“I call them tennis shoes, and I’d only wear shoes like that if I was going for a run.”
“Oh right. It’s just fashion.” I offer him a sheepish smile and dread the conversation about milk being a no go.
Hayden sits when I do. “I guess there will be a lot of things you say that I don’t.” I love the sound of his carefree chuckle. “Look, about earlier, I’m sorry if I came across...”
“Rude?” I grin over at him, testing his humor.
Hayden swipes the coarse prickles coating his jaw. “If I was rude, I’m sorry. It’s not every day I find a wet, half covered woman in my room.” He offers me a playful smile, and my heart twirls. I think he’s flirting with me. It’s the way he said wet, the way his lips curled right on that word.
“Really? So you don’t get much bedroom action.” I bite my lip gently. “I guess you must be too busy around this place for fun then, huh?”
I collect a silver fork in my hand and stab a slither of meat.
