Page 47

In front of me, Wyatt turns the corner in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and his cowboy hat. His chiseled torso is backdropped by the setting sun behind him, leaving him in a haze of oranges and pinks. The whole scene is dreamlike. If only he had a pair of low-slung jeans, it’d be the perfect picture. A cowboy out on the ranch, performing his evening duties so the rest of the house could sleep.
Dear God, my imagination just takes me away sometimes, doesn’t it?
Before I can slip past him in the hall, he places his arm out, barricading my exit. His blue eyes hold heat. “Where are you going? I thought we were talking.”
I turn to face him, and he searches my face for clues. Whatever he sees there makes his brows pinch together. Back in the living room, harsh whispers are thrown back and forth. I smile without feeling, which I’m pretty sure makes me a psychopath. I can’t help it if Stone brings out the worst in me. “Your douchey friend strikes again.”
He flicks his gaze toward the living room then back at me. “Yeah well, he’sourdouche.” He lowers his voice and leans down. I take a step back, but he follows me. We do this awkward dance until my back hits the wall and he’s caged me in with the brim of his hat just barely skimming my forehead. He reaches up to pet my hair. There’s no other word to describe what he’s doing. He watches as his fingers skirt over my curls then returns his attention to me. “The line between love and hate is painted with ill intentions.”
“Did you read that out of a Cracker Jack box?”
He smirks, shaking his head as he looks away. “I like you, Tits.”
I force my chin in the air, pulling some self-confidence from somewhere within me. Or maybe I’m just channeling all the literary heroines I’ve read about in the past. What would Jane Austen make her characters do? “I felt your—” My gaze drops, signaling that I’m referring to his package when I was on his lap in the truck. I don’t know why I think Elizabeth Bennet would’ve started off with that line. They weren’t even allowed to be alone with a dude, but if she’d been forced to live in the twenty-first century, she would have.
Wyatt chuckles. “Oh, Tits. In this house, we use proper terms. You felt my cock against your ass? Is that what you’re trying to say.”
A fierce blush rises to my cheeks. It’s been such an odd day. The incident at school. Lucas. My dad’s house. Now this? I feel like I’m living two different lives. One where I’m being seduced by devils, and the other where the unthinkable is happening.
“Say it, Tits,” Wyatt presses. “Be the Wild Girl Lucas thinks you are.”
I smirk because it’s funny he thinks I need to be taught. Dude, please. I’ve been reading romance books since I was twelve years old. Most of the time, my only entertainment was books. I place my hands on his chest and push. I keep going until he hits the opposite wall. I can tell Wyatt likes it. Like this is all a big game he means to keep playing until it bores him. I slip up onto my tiptoes. “I felt it,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Your cock growing beneath me every time I moved on your lap, poking my ass like if you could just. Slip. Through.”
Wyatt’s smile grows more appreciative. “You know it, baby. I’m a horny asshole. I don’t care where the pussy comes from, I’m down.”
Unfortunately, I think that’s true in Wyatt’s case. His humor has to be a shield from something.
Not that I should care.
“Well, now that we’ve got that settled,” I say. I turn and start to move toward my room again.
Wyatt grabs my shirt, pulling me backward. I stumble into his chest, and he moves an arm around my middle. “Two things, Tits,” he breathes. “One, I don’t care how much of a dick Stone just was to you, we have a job, and we’re getting it done. So, you’re going to march your pert little ass back out to the living room so we can talk.” His fingers dig into my side in a dominant way. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s...hot. Wyatt Longhorn knows how to play the alpha asshole, that’s for sure. His hands linger there, and he forgets to keep talking. That one-track mind of his is going to get him in trouble.
“What’s number two?”
He moves my hair from around my shoulder and leans in, his lips just grazing my ear, making fire roar through me. The barest of touches fuels my lust like the first spark of dynamite or lick of heat. “Oh,” he breathes. “I just wanted to tell you that when you said cock, my own responded.” He presses his hips into me as proof. Just like when I was sitting in his lap, his hard cock sits firmly against my ass.
I swear I’m going to combust just by living here. “So, does that mean I own you?”
He freezes and pushes me away. His dark laughter rings behind me. He’s very good at that. Flicking from normal to prick in an instant. All of them are. “No one’s ever been able to claim that,” he says, voice as sharp as jagged glass. He walks past me with a dismissive once-over. “I highly doubt it will be you.”
He leaves me in the hallway and waltzes out into the living room. I could just turn around and head back to my room but there’s no lock on the door and I’m afraid the caveman here would just throw me over his shoulder and drag me out. Part of me wants to try to see if he would, but the other part of me knows he’s right. Whatever shit Stone and I have needs to be put away for the greater good. If he can’t be a man and put it behind him, I’ll have to do it.
The doorbell rings.
Plus, there’s pizza. Who am I to say no to trying whatever this calzone thing is?
Wyatt whoops it up as he answers the door. I walk back into the main room and stand there awkwardly. Wyatt opens the door, and the pizza delivery guy strides in. He gives me a double-take, and my own heart sinks. I’m just like my father. I hate seeing people I know. Seeing people means being forced into socializing, and that’s never been my strong suit. Mainly because Clary is filled with a bunch of gossip-mongering, hateful hypocrites.
I’m surprised this guy even remembers me.
“Is that you, Dakota?”
His gaze moves up and down, taking in my hair all the way down to my outfit. I feel exposed. Stone really did only pack a few articles of clothing. Not that there were many at all, but he left all my comfortable clothes. All the clothes that let me fade into the background. I guess no one fades into the background in a house like this though. “Hey, Matt...” I say, waving awkwardly.
He slips the pizza onto the island in the kitchen, eyes still round. “Damn, you look so different. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down before. I barely recognized you.”
I blush. He won’t stop looking at me, and I’m used to being a shadow. Matt and I went to high school together. I was no one then. Well, I was there to be made fun of, that was it. I’m surprised he didn’t call me Blue’s Clues like Todd. “So, you’re working at a pizza place?”