Page 40 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

“We’re very sorry about this, Mr. Marshall. It’s extremely unfortunate, but the plumber is working on it now, and there’s simply no way you can sleep in that room tonight.”

Lawson drags a hand along the back of his neck and then lets out a slow, frustrated breath. “Alright. Can you help me find another room?”

The hotel receptionist taps furiously at her keyboard, her long acrylic nails clicking like tiny hammers on glass. She winces, then shakes her head no. “I’m afraid we’re completely booked, and the nearest hotel with availability is about thirty miles away.”

Lawson mutters a quiet curse under his breath. “Well, damn.”

She gives us both a sympathetic look, like she feels just as bad about the awkward suggestion she’s about to make.

“I know you’re here on business, but if it’s just for the night, there’s a pullout couch in the room that your coworker is staying in. Not ideal, I know, but… it’s an option.”

Lawson glances at me, then exhales again—like just the idea of sleeping in the same room as me is physically painful.

Ouch. That stings more than it should, but I get it. I haven't exactly been warm and inviting to him. Probably shouldn't have brought up the women that he's hooked up with before me over dinner, either.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” he grumbles.

I open my mouth to object. I could probably sleep in the rental car if it’s that uncomfortable for him, but he puts up a hand to stop me.

“Don’t worry,” he says firmly. “I’ll shower and go straight to sleep. I promised you I wouldn’t cross a line, and I meant it. You can trust me.”

I nod and chew on my lip, but it’s not him I don’t trust. It’s me. Because after twenty-four hours of being around him again, of seeing him in his element, quietly commanding, endlessly thoughtful, unbelievably good, I’ve realized that I’ve had this whole thing wrong from the beginning.

I’ve been pushing him away to protect myself, but maybe all I’ve been doing is hurting us both.

We take the elevator upstairs in silence. When we reach my room, Lawson opens the door and gestures for me to go in first.

“You want to shower before me?” he asks.

I shake my head, needing the space to think and prepare my apology. “You go ahead.”

He disappears into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. I perch on the edge of the bed, heart pounding, mind spinning.

I’ve spent months compartmentalizing, drawing a line so thick between us that I thought I couldn’t cross it.

But now… he’s told me he wants this. That the hook-ups we had weren't just a one-time thing for him. And he’s proven over and over again through his actions, through his restraint, through his quiet steadiness, that this isn’t some passing infatuation for him.

It’s real. We could be real. And maybe I’ve been in love with him longer than I’ve allowed myself to admit.

And maybe he's felt the same way.

Because Lawson isn’t like my ex. He doesn’t manipulate, gaslight or try to own me. And he isn't like Elijah was as a boss either. He respects me. Listens to me. Sees me.

I pull out my phone and text Isla, fingers trembling.

Dani: I’m in a hotel room alone with Lawson.

Isla: Um, WHAT!?

Dani: His room flooded. Pipe burst. He has to sleep on the pullout in my room. He’s promised to behave. But Isla... I think I might be in love with him, and I don't want to behave.

Isla: WHAT?!?!?!

Dani: Stop saying what and help me out! Is this insane?

Am I ruining everything? He never stops working.

He talks about logistics and sales forecasts the way most people talk about their kids.

He doesn’t slow down. What if I end up back where I started, letting my career consume me, dating my boss, losing myself and my life in the process?

Isla: Okay, deep breath. You’re spiraling. You’re making up disasters before they’ve even had a chance to happen.

Dani: But I have to think about these things. I have to protect myself. Catalina was right, I can't end up back in the hospital. If it happens again, the chances of me recovering are so much lower.

Isla: Maybe. But maybe it’s also his job to protect you now. Your heart. Especially after everything you’ve been through. If you tell him your fears, he'll understand. You told him what happened, he'll be mindful of that. He’s a thoughtful guy.

I stare at her message, my heart lurching in my chest.

Isla: Dani... you’re not even giving him a chance to show you that he can be trusted to separate work and life.

You’ve already decided it’ll go bad before you’ve even had the conversation.

Maybe there’s more to him than the workaholic front he puts on.

Maybe he’s more like you than you think.

Maybe he’s scared, too. Maybe he wants to do a good job to please his family and make them proud but also knows how to relax when he wants to.

She’s right. Dammit, she’s so right. But that doesn’t make it less terrifying because I really, really, really freaking like Lawson and if things go south, I can't imagine recovering this time, or being able to continue working for him and his family.

I hear him move around in the bathroom, and I sit up straighter, nerves dancing all over my skin.

If I’m going to give this a shot, really give it a shot, I need to start by being honest with him. And with myself. Because if there’s even a chance this could be real, I don’t want to ruin it out of fear because of my ex who isn’t in my life anymore.

I want to be brave. For once, I want to believe I deserve something good.

Dani: What if he’s already moved on? What if he really has put me back in the employee box and doesn't want anything more from me?

I mean, I shot him down hard. What if I’ve already been filed away under “employee” forever?

Isla: Didn't he just bend you over his dad's bathroom sink last night? I'd hardly say he'd be able to move on that quickly but there's only one way to find out… seduce him.

Seduce him.

Right. Okay. That sounds… absolutely insane. But also, maybe genius? It might work but I need to be sure I'm ready for this.

Isla: But don’t lead him on again. You said he was clear; he doesn’t want to be strung along again. You said it hurt him last time. He's such a nice guy, don't fuck with his heart again. Please.

Dani: I know. I don’t want to hurt him.

I just… I want to please him. Dammit, that sounds pathetic. But I do. I always have. I’m so fucking sick for him. It’s not even funny anymore.

I hear the shower shut off and my whole body jerks like someone just yanked a fire alarm inside me. I toss my phone onto the dresser like it’s radioactive and whirl toward my suitcase.

I yank out the only remotely sexy sleepwear I packed—a silk slip that hits just below my ass and dips low across my chest showing off the tops of my breasts. It's edged in delicate white lace cups that are see through and soft pink silk that pops against my skin.

It’s scandalous . I mean, genuinely scandalous. But it also makes me feel… pretty. Confident. A little dangerous. And maybe I need that tonight.

I skip the underwear. Bold move. Questionable judgment. But the logic tracks. This way there’s less to think about, fewer barriers when I put it all on the line. I roll the slip inside my towel to hide it and pace until the bathroom door finally opens.

And then— holy shit .

Lawson steps out barefoot, damp brown hair pushed back, skin glistening like a post-shower dream. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose, navy basketball shorts, hanging low on his hips that reveal the strong V he has there from all those hotel gym work outs.

His chest is bare and it’s a whole new side of him that I’ve never seen. Lean, strong, with defined abs and pecs and a tattoo on his shoulder that looks like a set of dates. Memorial ink, maybe. I’ll ask him someday.

He lifts his arms to scrub a towel over his head, and the motion makes his biceps and abs crunch even harder. I swear I'm drooling when he catches me watching him.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, glancing down at his bare chest. “I didn’t pack a T-shirt because I can't sleep with one on and thought I'd be sleeping alone.”

I blink. “No. That’s fine. Totally fine.”

It’s more than fine. It’s possibly illegal how fine it is.

Then I practically trip over my own feet to get into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m shaved, moisturized, blow-dried, and standing in front of the bathroom mirror giving myself a pep talk like I’m about to go into battle.

My cheeks are flushed from the steam, my eyes are bright, and the silk of my slip clings to all the right places.

My nipples are visible through the fabric.

It’s a lot, but I look beautiful. I feel beautiful.

“You can do this,” I whisper. “Just tell him the truth. Be honest. He's not going to hurt you like your ex. You owe him a chance.”

I exhale slowly and open the door. He’s lying on the pullout couch now, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on the TV as the end of a professional basketball game plays. The glow from the screen flickers over him, catching in the grooves of his muscles.

“Hey,” he says without looking at me. “Game’s almost over. I’ll turn it off in five if that’s cool with you?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice tight. “That’s fine.”

I step a little closer, unsure what to do with my hands or my nerves.

This could backfire spectacularly. He could laugh or worse, be disappointed.

Tell me I missed my shot and now it’s gone.

But he just ate me out. Like, less than 48 hours ago.

He wants me. I know he does. I just need to stop playing scared.

I clear my throat softly which causes him to finally turn and notice me. His eyes drag over me, slow and stunned. And then again. Lower. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Dani.” His voice is heavy. “What the hell are you wearing?”

I glance down innocently, then back up at him with a smile. “Oh, this old thing? These are my pajamas.”?