Page 13 of Tempting Wyatt

I’m into honest, submissive, not looking for anything long-term, and no drama. Anything outside of that is definitely not my type.

Ivy Anderson has drama written all over her. What kind of woman drives a thousand or more miles alone to rent a random cabin in the middle of nowhere for two weeks? One running from drama—that’s who. Probably drama she created.

She’s tiny and soft-spoken, but she has this air about her, like there’s not a submissive bone in her perfect body. Her intentionally damaged jeans look like they cost more than my monthly paycheck. I don’t even want to know about the shiny black handbag or the spiky-heeled ankle boots.

This high-maintenance piece of work isn’t my type.

So, as much as I appreciate her physical appearance, that’s all I’ll be doing. Appreciating it from afar.

“So, what do you do then?”

Not make pointless conversation with random women who show up on my ranch unexpectedly, for starters.

I don’t have time for this—whateverthisis. My to-do list for today still has half a dozen items on it, and the sun has almost completely set.

I move toward the front door. “I do whatever needs to be done.”

“Sounds like a lot for one man to handle.”

You have no idea, sweetheart.

“I work on the ranch plenty. But I’m a rancher, not a cowboy,” I tell her. “Like a ranch manager, overseeing everything from the actual work on the daily punch list to the financials.”

“Kind of the behind-the-scenes guy,” she says, looking genuinely interested. “You’re pretty much the boss, then?”

I almost laugh. “It’s not that fancy. No corner offices. Only bosses around here are cattle bosses.” She opens her mouth to ask more questions, I’m guessing, so I elaborate. “A cattle boss is a foreman, Hollywood. Not to be confused with a cow boss, which is just a dominant cow.” She smiles at me and I find myself telling her much more than I mean to. “The cowboys handle the cattle, and the wranglers tend to the horses. I oversee all of them and the equipment the best I can. Make sure we have a budget and a plan to keep everything running as smoothly as possible, keep everything paid, organized, and the animals fed, rotated, and healthy. We’ve downsized a bit recently, so we all help out wherever we’re needed.”

I have no clue why I’m still here, explaining my job to this woman, instead of moving my ass so I can get back out there and actually do it.

Soft hazel eyes meeting mine. “I kind of love that. I mean, not that you had to downsize, but the everyone-helping-out part. Like one big family.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” I need to get the hell out of here because this cabin seems to be shrinking the longer I’m in it. Her damn eyes are hypnotizing me.I place my hand on the doorknob to make my escape. “Well, if you don’t need anything else from me, I’ll let you get settled in.”

Either I’m imagining it, or her gaze turns hungry at the mention of her needing anything else from me.

Looks like I’m not the only one who needs to get laid.

This is not good. This is the opposite of good.

I’ve been here before.

And that look—the one in her eyes that says she needs much more from me than a two-cent tour of this cabin—is dangerous.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ivy

THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE UP earlier than normal, disoriented. In the distance, a rooster is crowing like his life depends on it. The bed is comfortable, but the sheets are unfamiliar.

The image of a rugged, bearded rancher comes to my mind, and for a second, I wonder if it’s his bed.

Sitting up and blinking myself awake, I’m greeted by a scene I’ve only witnessed in paintings. Sherbert hues I don’t have specific names for paint the sky in vibrant strokes as the sun peeks up over the horizon.

Rich earthy scents permeate the air as I inhale.

Where am I?

As the sleep fog clears, it comes back to me all at once. Cabin on a ranch in Montana, and the only hooking up I’ve done with the rugged rancher was in my dreams. Literally.