Page 20 of Wrangled and Tangled (Raven Peak Ranch #1)
T his man has no shame.
His fucking smile, though, it’s charming and inviting. I know why he is the way he is, at least the playboy part. How could he not? He’s beautiful, travels all over, and I know people likely fawn all over him.
“I sure hope you get tested.” My tone comes out harsher than intended, so I look away, out into the rolling darkness. I used a condom, but they aren’t the end-all-be-all, and my mind won’t stop spiraling.
His chuckle vibrates in my chest, or maybe that’s my heart beating at an unreasonable rate.
I hate that I want to kiss him right now.
Hate how I want to sit here and listen to everything he’s willing to tell me about himself.
I barely know this man, but he’s already under my skin, and I need him out.
“I get tested regularly, I ain’t playin’ around with my health.
It’s all I got,” his wink has magical powers.
I’m positive because my dick, which hasn’t been this active in years, is rioting against my jeans.
I need to get as far away from him as possible if I stand any chance of keeping my dignity in check.
I don’t care if the engagement is fake. I don’t want to end up in a tabloid and have my daughter thrown into this mess.
“Good. I’m clean too, I got tested a few months ago and haven’t been with anyone since, thought you should know.” Clearing my throat I continue, “You can sleep in my room,” I offer, standing from the porch swing and blowing out the citronella candle I’d lit earlier. “I’ll stay in Briar’s.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” he says, following my lead. Grabbing his bag from where he placed it, we head inside, and I march straight to my door. Ain’t no way I’m letting him sleep on the couch and risk Briar, Lucy, or Mawmaw barging in and asking questions I haven’t had the time to answer.
“You’ll stay in my room. It’s not up for discussion.” My tone brokers no argument, and he smirks. “Don’t arg–”
“Yes, Sir,” he extends the last of the word, his voice raised in playfulness, and my traitorous cock twitches.
It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed anything in the bedroom that wasn’t my imagination and calloused hand. So, hearing him taunt me ignites something deep in my gut.
“Go to bed, Heath,” throwing his bag onto my bed and passing him in the doorframe. Our shoulders knock, but I don’t stop to think about it. I know if I do, the two of us will fall right into the vortex of lust we share.
Stomping across the few feet that separate my door and Briar’s, I throw open her door and immediately think the couch might be the better option. She’s so messy. Her clothes are strewn about, makeup on the vanity, and open bottles of what I hope are only water pepper the space.
Picking one up and taking a sniff, my chest loosens. I was a teen once, and Lord knows I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, but I don’t want Briar falling into the same pattern.
Her book bag’s half unpacked, with books and notebooks threatening to spill out.
Carrying it to the chair in the corner of her room, I plop it down and throw the clothes left from her shop-splosion on top of the chair.
She can clean this up tomorrow. For now, I’ll squeeze my body onto her bed and pray to God I can sleep with Heath next door.
My body’s relaxed, and my eyes are heavy not long after I’ve laid down with a blanket over me. Footsteps sound in the house, and in my almost asleep state, I remind myself that it’s just Briar, and she likes to get water in the middle of the night.
But her steps aren’t that heavy, and her voice most certainly doesn’t sound like hers when I hear a whispered “Good night,” against the door.
An impatient hand lands on my shoulder and shakes the daylights out of me. My daughter’s voice is pitched higher than normal, “Why is Heath Macabe in our kitchen cooking bacon?”
My brain’s not awake yet, and I groan. “What are you goin’ on about?”
“Heath! You know, bronc ridin’ champion?” She’s waving her hand around while the other’s on her hip. “Hot cowboy? Apparently has eyes for my dad–”
The smoke detector sounds, and I jump out of bed, pulling Briar with me. “Fuck!”
Dashing from her room into the kitchen, I grab a potholder from the drawer and fan the smoke detector as Heath stands there, pajama pants slung low over his hips, and not a stitch of a t-shirt to be found.
“Put a shirt on, would ya?” I holler over my shoulder as Briar tries to hide her laugh.
He’s standing there with a pair of tongs in his hand and a smile on his face. The alarm stops blaring, the only sound now is bacon frying on the stove. Rubbing my eyes, I huff out a breath, “Shirt. Now.”
Heath laughs, puts the tongs down, and walks to my bedroom. The sight puts thoughts into my head that shouldn’t be there. Seeing him so comfortable in my home should be criminal.
One night. That’s all I gave him. Now, he can pack up and go back to the rodeo.
“When did you come home?” I ask, wiping sleep from my eyes.
“Daaaad,” Briar sign-songs, holding her hands in front of her like she’s got some secret she can’t help holding in. “What is he doing here?”
Choosing to ignore my question, she eyes me then my closed bedroom door.
“His trailer is under investigation. He needed a place to stay,” I’m debating telling her why he called me, but think better of that conversation with my teenage daughter. Don’t ask, don’t tell, is my friend right now.
As if she can read my thoughts, she asks, “How did you know he needed a place to stay?”
Walking over to the stove and pulling the sizzling bacon off the burner, I think through my answers. What can I tell her? I’ve never lied to my daughter, and I don’t plan on starting now.
“I ran into him at the police station with Lucy,” which is true. I didn’t speak to him, but I did see him.
“And you offered up your bed for him?” She asks, with a raised brow and hand on her hip.
“Briar, he needed a place to stay, and I have a place,” turning my back to her, I fish the bacon out of the pan and place it all on the towel Heath already has some pieces laying on. “I don’t know what else you need to know.”
“I called him,” Heath interrupts, “last night. I knew your dad would know where I could stay for the time bein’.”
Turning her full inquisitive teenage brain on Heath, she asks, “And how did you get my dad’s number?
” Briar crosses her arms, her eyes bouncing between the two of us.
“He’s a pretty private person, and I’m not convinced he would have given you his number after just meeting you at dinner last night.
Especially considerin’ what happened after. ”
God love her. Why does she have to be so intuitive?
Heath laughs and nods, “Yeah, your dad’s a hard one to crack, that’s for sure, but my publicist is a woman of many talents.”
“Your publicist. The one who arranged your phony engagement?”
Heath and I both whip our heads in her direction, mouths agape and floored. She stands there, hip popped out, arms crossed as if she’s got some sorta leg up on us.
“How–wait, hold on. How do you know that?” Heath chuckles, as if it’s no big deal that my fifteen-year-old daughter can see through a bullshit engagement and not bat an eye.
“Oh, come on,” she says, throwing one arm up, “you wouldn’t settle for a woman like Macy Myers .”