Page 45 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ivy

THE FENCE CREAKS UNDER MY weight as I lean against it, watching Lucifer graze in the early morning sun. Somewhere, Wyatt, Isaac, and the ranch workers are busy. But there’s a lazy kind of peace here—the kind I never realized I was desperate for until I stumbled into it.

Lucifer finally ambles over, sniffing at my hand for treats I don’t have because I already gave him and Jasper all my apples and carrots. I scratch behind his ears anyway, and he nuzzles into me sweetly.

“You’re not so scary, are you?”

He makes a snorting sound then returns to his grazing.

It hits me then, a strange pang of longing in my chest. The realization that I’m imagining Lucifer will miss me the same way I’m pretending Wyatt will.

I spent most of my childhood pretending things into existence. Imaginary friends. Adventures. Whole worlds where I wasn’t the weird, lonely new kid eating lunch alone. I used to think it was sad. Pitiful, even.

Now I know better.

That loneliness carved out the space inside me where stories could live. It built the scaffolding of the life I have now—the life I almost forgot how to love.

Lucifer returns his attention to me and bumps his nose against my shoulder, as if to say Buck up, buttercup.

If it weren’t for that awful morning where I couldn’t write a word to save my life, and then the humiliating encounter with Malcolm and Heidi, I never would’ve run away from what I thought I wanted.

I never would’ve found myself out here, breathing in air that smells like sage and soil instead of exhaust and desperation.

I never would’ve met Wyatt.

The thought of him—of the quiet man with calloused hands, his gruff voice saying my name like a prayer—unravels something in me I didn’t know was knotted up.

My heartbreak wasn’t an ending. It was a trailhead to somewhere better.

I glance up at the wide-open Montana sky, all endless blue and white puffy clouds, and let myself believe, for once, that sometimes the worst things that happen to you are just the beginning of the best parts of your life.

Maybe this time, I'm not running away.

Maybe I'm finally running toward something.

Toward someone.

Toward the version of me I was meant to be.

And a rugged and very bossy rancher I can’t stop thinking about.

As if he can feel me thinking about him, Wyatt rides up like I conjured him with my thoughts.

“Hate to break up the party with your boyfriend here,” he says, lifting his chin toward Lucifer. “But I was hoping we could take a ride.”

I can’t even pretend to contain my excitement. “Yeah? Where are we riding to?”

He jerks his head toward the mountain range. “Up to the summit. It’s the highest point on the property. It’s a long ride and kind of rough but you can see the entire ranch from there.”

“I can handle kind of rough,” I tell him with a flirty grin.

He grins back. “Don’t I know it.”

I’m so excited, I do a little happy dance as I wait for him to saddle a horse for me.

I try to talk him into letting me ride Lucifer, who I’ve began calling Lou for short, because let’s face it, Lucifer is a villain’s name and my sweet, wounded boy is no villain.

He’s just guarded. But Wyatt insists on saddling Sunny for me.

At the base of the mountain, he pauses beside what looks like a large pond next to a smaller one.

“When we were kids, we’d jump over the creek, into the pond from the rope swing,” he tells me, nodding toward higher ground. “Even when it was freezing. Luckily there’s a hot spring.”

“A hot spring? Show me.”

“It’s right there, near that grove.”

“I meant, show me, as in let’s get in it.”

He frowns. “You’re serious?”

I nod. “I’ve only got so much time left,” I say softly. “I want to experience everything.”

With you.

He sighs softly but ties his horse’s lead line to a tree, then helps me off of Sunny and shows me to the small spring. It’s barely the size of the hot tub on the cabin’s back porch. From the surface, steam rises in slow tendrils, twisting into the cooler mid-morning air.

When I turn back to look at Wyatt, he’s standing at the edge like he’s contemplating making a run for it.

I grin and start to strip my clothes off. “Come on, rancher. Live a little.”

“I live plenty.” His arms are crossed, biceps flexed. He looks deliciously stubborn, lips pressed in a firm line, his dark eyes locked on me, like he’s trying to outlast whatever spell I’m casting on him.

He’s stubborn, but there’s a crack in his resistance as he eyes my naked body. A sliver of temptation I can see in the way his gaze dips, trailing over my bare skin as I lower myself into the warm water.

“Suit yourself.” I let my fingers glide over the surface of the water, stretching like I don’t have a single care in the world. “I mean, I figured a big, tough guy like you wouldn’t be scared of a little skinny-dipping.”

His jaw tics. “I’m not scared of skinny-dipping.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s warring with himself, and then—finally—he lets out a low curse and tears off his shirt. I watch closely as he undoes the fly of his jeans, then removes his boots. His jeans and briefs are discarded in one fluid motion.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen him naked, but the sight of his bare chest, smooth skin, ridges of muscle sculpted by years of hard work steals the breath from my lungs.

When my eyes fall on his dick—thick, proud, and perfectly proportional to his massive body—I nearly forget to breathe.

He watches me watching him, shaking his head, like he knew this would happen.

Like he knew the second he gave in, I’d eat him alive with my eyes.

I quickly look away, biting my lip to suppress the giddy laugh bubbling up in my throat.

The water ripples as he steps in, hissing under his breath when the heat sinks into his muscles.

He moves toward me slowly, dark eyes locked on mine, and suddenly, the teasing edge between us shifts into something heavier.

Something more.

My pulse kicks up as he stops just in front of me, water swirling between us.

Reaching up, I run my fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath my palms. His breath catches, his eyes darkening with something dangerous.

I wrap my legs against his waist, rocking my core against his solid length. I feel like a teenager—no, better than a teenager because I wasn’t allowed to have this back then. But here and now, I can. And I want it—want this—so damn bad.

“It’s like taking a bath together,” I say, my voice soft and low as he allows me to rub against him like a cat in heat.

“Ivy,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“Yeah?” I breathe.

“What are you doing to me, woman?”

“Everything,” I whisper.

My lips brush his, and then he’s kissing me. Hard. Deep. Thoroughly. Like he’s been holding back for too long, and finally—finally—he’s letting go and giving in.

His hands pull at my waist, yanking me against him, the heat of his body turning the water between us into something electric. Something shocking and dangerous.

I whimper in pleasure, and his mouth claims mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping against mine, like he’s intent on learning every inch of me.

I melt into him, gripping his shoulders, nails biting into firm muscle as he groans into my mouth.

The sound sends a shiver down my spine, pooling heat low in my stomach.

He tastes like whiskey and something purely Wyatt—something heady, something sweet that burns at the same time because it will hurt later.

I’m drunk and dizzy with each stroke of his tongue. When we break apart to breathe, both of us panting, he presses his forehead to mine, his hands still gripping me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

He’s not inside me, like my body wants, but this is pretty damn close.

I grind myself up and down against him, lightning sparking through me with each stroke of him against my most sensitive parts.

My legs clamp around him as my clit jerks and twitches, and I come quickly from the feel of him.

And just like that, the teasing is gone.

He kisses me while I break apart against him, swallowing each moan of pleasure and claiming me with everything he has.

And I let him.