Page 4 of The First Day of Breeding Season (Wildfire Ranch #4)

DREW

Ah, for fuck’s sake, that was the wrong thing to say.

Of course it was.

My brother wears shirts like this to work as her professor. Everyone wears shirts like that around here, so of course she blinks at me, dumbfounded.

I’m no good with women. Never have been. Never will be.

Why didn’t I listen more closely when Noah was talking about Brian?

Why didn’t I get specific about her name in the emails, instead of talking to her endlessly about the mating habits of large animals?

And I already miss hold her hand. It was warmer, softer, and smaller than I expected, and God damn did it not feel fucking perfect.

Touching her makes my chest ache in this stupid, unfamiliar way. Like I’ve caught a bubble floating on the air, and if I let it go, it’ll pop.

Which is exactly what I need it to do. I need her to disappear.

She’s too fucking tempting to be around a group of men who aren’t getting laid much this summer. Or at all.

Some of us haven’t had sex in years. Some of us haven’t really ever had sex, not the way most people do, because we’re big terrifying oafs with zero people skills who scare women every time we look at them.

The sum total of my life experiences in that area is a few fumbled moments, quick and forgettable.

“Look, Miss Hughes, we don’t got room for you in the bunkhouse,” I finally say.

Pop.

Her face falls.

“Where am I staying, then?” Her voice quivers with uncertainty.

“It’s not a requirement to live on site.”

“I can sleep in the barn,” she offers. “I have a sleeping bag.”

She can’t be serious. I stare at her in disbelief. “You can’t sleep in the barn .”

Her expression turns desperate.

“I don’t have a place to live this summer,” she says in a rush, her words tumbling over each other.

“My scholarship included student housing but only September to May, and I didn’t get a job because you said I could do this placement and if I don’t have a job I can’t afford rent, and I don’t know if you’ve tried to rent an apartment without having money to pay that rent, but it’s actually very hard. Plus, Dr. Lowry said?—”

“Round here, he’s just Noah,” I growl, cutting her off. And I don’t care what Noah promised her, he should’ve thought about the consequences of inviting a girl like this onto the ranch. I pace away from her, my chest heaving. “I need a minute to think.”

“Wait, please—” She lunges forward, grabbing at my arm.

Her touch is stronger than I expect, strong enough to halt me in my tracks, and her fingers slide along my forearm.

Her gaze falls to where she’s clutching my wrist.

“What…” She circles her thumb against the dark hair on my forearm that disguises the tattooed knot right over my wrist.

Slowly, she turns my arm over to look at my exposed wrist, where the rope frays a little. All of the breath in her body rushes out of her in a shocked little exhale. “Whoa.”

Whoa is right.

I thought I was hard before, but I’m aching, my erection heavy and throbbing.

“You like that?” I ask thickly, hearing my voice from a distance. You like Daddy’s ink? It’s older than you, little girl.

She doesn’t answer right away.

It’s as if she’s transfixed.

I sway closer as she rubs at the realistic ink. “That rope’s been there for twenty-two years, waiting for someone to notice it.”

She whimpers, a soft, tiny sound that burrows deep under my skin. “That long, huh?”

“Oh, the stories I could tell you,” I huff out, laughing under my breath.

“I hope you do.” She clears her throat and lifts her face, blinking away the curious wonder in a flash. “So, if not the barn, where can I sleep?”

The woman has more self-control than I do. I was ready to pick her up and carry her into the nearest empty stall in the barn and show her the rest of my ink.

“I’ll find you a room to put your stuff in,” I mutter.

She nods. “Thank you.”

I turn on my heel and stalk toward the house.

Even though I’m striding real fucking fast, and my legs are much longer than hers, she catches up faster than I expect, even with a quick stop at her car to grab her backpack.

All of which I’m painfully aware of.

It’s a terrible idea to have her stay in the main house with me. Terrible. Truly one of my worst ideas ever.

But it’s the only possibility my stunned-simple brain is able to come up with right now.

There’s a whole wing that Noah and Paisley lived in before they finished construction on their new home. It’s not like I’m putting her right next to my room.

Just down the back porch, though.

I climb the steps and take my boots off in the mud room, carefully not looking at her.

She’s so fucking pretty.

Her generous hips in those jean shorts are something straight out of my long-buried fantasies. There’s something about the ripped edge, the soft white threads brushing against the lush tops of her thighs, that make it hard for me to breathe.

Real smart to move that kind of temptation into your house.

It’s not like I have any other choice. Not one I can live with, anyway.

I lead her through the kitchen and down the hall, past the living room.

The walls feel like they’re closing in with every step she takes beside me.

Now that we’re inside, I swear I keep catching a honey scent off her, and I’m taking deeper and deeper breaths, trying to inhale more of her.

“This can be your room,” I mutter, pushing the door open.

It’s nothing fancy—bed, dresser, view of the rolling hills—but the look of relief on her face is startling.

Almost as if she wasn’t sure she’d have a place to stay tonight , I think, and the confused irritation humming under my skin twists, crystallizing into white hot rage. Why doesn’t she have anyone else in her life? Who is her family, and why did they put her in this precarious position?

As those thoughts riot through my mind, she slides her backpack off her shoulder and drops it on the bed.

Her t-shirt twists with it, pulling up her torso, and I get an unexpected flash of soft, smooth skin on her side.

She tugs the cotton down to meet the waist of her jean shorts again, then stretches her arms over her head and it rides right back up again.

This time, her curvy tummy narrows in a bit at the top, nipping in with a shadow that makes my mouth water to taste her there.

I jerk my head up, inspecting the ceiling. That’s safer.

“I need to go,” I say, and my voice comes out low, rough, and desperate. “There’s a lot to do before tomorrow.”

“Can I help?”

“No.” That comes out too harshly. “You stay here. I’ll send the housekeeper to get you settled. Tomorrow, be ready to leave at seven in the morning. We’ll be gone all day.”

She sucks in a breath, and even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her excitement level rising. “So, we’re…”

For better or worse, yes. Tomorrow’s the first day of breeding season. I nod. “Tomorrow, we turn the bulls loose in the pasture.”

“I can’t wait,” she breathes.

Desperate need claws at the inside of my chest. I don’t know how to soothe it, so I do the next best thing—I turn on my heel and leave, hoping I can outrun it.