Page 5 of Ready, Willing and Abel (Dog Tags #6)
chapter
five
Abel
“This is too fucking early to be showing up at someone’s house, Tish,” I hiss to my publicist.
“Nonsense,” Tish says brightly. “You said she lives on a farm. Farmers get up with the sun. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m not happy about this,” I mutter.
“Well, I’m not happy about those pictures all over the internet, Abel.” Tish shoots me a glare from across the limo.
“And I’ve explained the situation to you.”
“Yeah, I can’t sell that story to the public. No one will believe the whole man-eating plant thing.”
The limo turns down the gravel drive that leads to Cactus Girl’s house. I can’t deny that I’m excited about seeing her again. Maybe catching a glimpse at that heart-stuttering smile of hers. Though the odds of her ever smiling in my direction again after we ambush her like this are probably nil.
My stomach knots as the sleek black car comes to a stop. The first woman I’ve had any interest in, any kind of connection with, and we’re about to ruin her day. Possibly her entire life.
Okay, that’s probably overstating my importance. Still, I can’t imagine she’s going to be happy to see me.
“Here we go,” Tish says as the driver opens the door. He helps her out, and she wobbles slightly on her sky-high heels.
“Those shoes were not intended for the country,” I tell her.
She’s staring at the small white house. It’s old, you can see the paint is worn.
But it is tidy. The porch, only big enough for two rocking chairs, is swept clear of leaves and any other debris.
But those rocking chairs… they’re not the traditional white or wood-stain ones.
Nope, they’re a mismatched pair. One is a lime green Adirondack with a flamingo- splattered pillow.
The other is a vintage metal rocker just like the one my grandparents had on their porch when I was a kid.
Except this one is painted bright pink. There’s a lime- shaped pillow on it.
My steps slow at the sight of these two drastically different chairs that somehow—against all odds—fit together perfectly.
I hadn’t even noticed them my first time on this porch. I was probably too busy staring at her ass. Now, they seem like a sign. They’re perfect in their mismatched imperfections.
Very much like I remember the inside of her house. Tidy, but visually chaotic at the same time. For some reason, it makes me smile.
Tish bangs her knuckles on the door.
“Too fucking early,” I say again.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking—” comes muttered from the other side of the door. “Knocking?—”
But the words die on Cactus Girl’s lips the minute she sees us.
“Oh, uh, hello,” she says. Then the goats gather around her and pour out onto the porch. “Oh damn, sorry. We had a thunderstorm last night, and they don’t like the loud noises.”
Tish is shrieking and holding her bag above her head.
“They won’t hurt you,” Cactus Girl says.
I could give a shit about Tish or the goats because I’ve just realized what my mystery girl is wearing.
Or rather not wearing. She’s standing there in a tank top and panties.
That’s it. Her nipples are hard little points that press against the thin fabric of her shirt.
There’s a cartoon image of a cactus on the shirt and the words “Don’t Be a Prick. ”
That makes me laugh.
“Babies!” She says loudly. “Go to your pen.”
The goats file away, heading towards a fenced-in area next to the house.
She goes to step off the porch and follow them, but I touch her arm. “I’ll put them in. You should probably put on some pants.”
Her eyes widen as she glances down at herself.
“Oh my God. Just kill me now. Yes. Please and thank you.” Then she rushes back into the house.
I follow the goats, leaving Tish behind to gather herself . But the time I’m finished getting the goats all locked into their pen, Tish and Cactus Girl are sitting in the living room.
“Are you sure you don’t want any coffee or anything?” she asks Tish.
My publicist has a “do you smell that?” look on her face. I shoot her a glare.
“The goats are house-trained. Just so you know,” Cactus Girl says.
I notice she’s put on a t-shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts. The frayed denim draws my eyes to her thick thighs, and I get the sudden urge to grip them, spread them. My dick twitches.
Nope. Gotta shut down those thoughts. I will not get an erection in the same space as my publicist.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Abel Cartwright,” Tish begins.
Cactus Girl’s lips fold in on themselves as if she’s hiding a smile. She nods.
“Obviously with him being an international superstar?—”
“Tish, don’t be obnoxious.” I step forward and hold my hand out to the curvy bombshell. “Abel, nice to actually meet you, and I apologize in advance for what’s about to happen.”
She smiles up at me, full and bright, and I swear to fuck my heart flips over like a dog on its back asking for belly rubs.
“Esme Morales,” she says.
Esme. Damn, that’s really pretty. She’s really pretty.
I step away from her and lean against the wall. There’s a chair available, but I’m feeling that restless energy surging through my body. I haven’t gone for my run yet today. Probably because Tish interrupted me and demanded we head out here immediately.
“So what’s about to happen?” Esme asks.
“There are some compromising pictures of the two of you,” Tish says. “On the internet. We need to mitigate the situation. Get in front of it, if you will, to explain.”
“Pictures?” Esme’s head tilts to the side a little with her question.
Tish hands over her tablet with the pictures on the screen.
“Oh damn. This looks like—” she looks up, her wide brown eyes finding mine. Then she tosses her head back and laughs.
And that’s it.
That’s the moment I know.
Esme is it for me.
All these years, all this waiting. All the Hollywood bullshit I’ve been fighting so hard to wade through. All the seemingly perfect women who haven’t been it, been anything to me … it’s all been leading to this moment. To this woman.