But who the fuck is taking care of Summer?
She’s sunny, and happy, and cracks a joke in the face of adversity. But right now, she seems tired. And after everything she’s done for me, lending her strength seems like the most natural thing to do.
I let go of the fence post and hold my arms open wide, while crooking my fingers toward myself. “Come here.”
“That’s a bad idea.” She rolls her eyes and nibbles at her bottom lip, but I get the sense that’s mostly to chase away the glassiness shining in them. She makes me wait, but eventually, she steps into the cage of my arms, and I wrap them around her.
For the first moments she maintains a polite distance, but when I drop my head and let out a sigh against the crook of her neck, she melts closer. One arm slung over my shoulder while the other tentatively traces my ribs.
And I just hold her tighter.
She’s healthy, and strong, and resilient, and yet so fragile. She feels small in my arms, and the way she clutches at me borders on desperate. I wish I could ease all her hurt, all her worry, all her anxiety.
It’s almost like she doesn’t see what a force she is.
But I do.
I wish I could make her see that too.
I’m not sure how long we stand here, holding one another as the golden sun sinks below the hills behind us.
When she finally pulls back a bit, her eyes hold mine. And what I see there is something akin to confusion.
“I’m sorry I made your job harder today.” I say it, and I mean it. “I’ve spent so long fending for myself that it honestly just felt like a way to have some fun. I’m, well, I’m not accustomed to accounting for someone else.” It’s a sobering realization. I’m a man who’s been living his day-to-day life for what feels good, with little regard for those around me.
She nods, eyes dipping down to my mouth. “Can you just wait until you win it all to have some fun? Then you can do whatever you want. It’s not that long.”
My fingers pulse on her waist and I take my turn staring at her mouth. I groan. Whatever I want. What a tempting way of putting that.
Her chest rises and falls with some strain now. “Rhett. You can’t look at me like that,” she says breathily. “You really, really can’t.” Her eyes press shut, like she might be able to erase me from her mind.
“Why not?” My voice is all gravel as I soak up the pained expression on her face.
“Because it’s confusing.”
Like hell. I reach down and hitch her leg up, wrapping it around my waist. Right where it belongs.
“I was so wrong about you. And now? Now I’m not confused at all.” My fingers give her toned thigh a firm squeeze, and my mind runs wild with how it would feel to have her entirely wrapped around me.
This fucking body.
“Rhett?” She hasn’t pulled away. In fact, her fingers are tangling in the hair at the base of my skull, pulling my face closer to hers, whether she realizes it or not.
And then her mouth tips up. Her body is saying yes, but her words are saying she’s not so sure.
I let my hand trail up her torso, feeling her tremble slightly beneath my touch. I stroke the column of her throat with my thumb, her pulse beating beneath my fingers. The way it jumps wildly. “Tell me what you want, Summer.” Our lips are so close, facing off in some sort of game without even touching. “If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
A desperate whimpering sound escapes her as her eyes squeeze shut again.
And then she pulls away. Her leg comes down, and the spring breeze pushes her out of my reach. Her expression is stricken, and her posture defeated.
Summer is proud and responsible. Two characteristics about her I absolutely admire.
So, there’s the small part of me that isn’t surprised. I stare at her trembling hand raised between us in a signal to not come any closer.
“Unfortunately, this is not my last moment on earth.” She swallows and glances over her shoulder, like she’s embarrassed. “Mostly, I’ve been pushing papers at Hamilton Elite. I’m . . . I’m trying to keep this relationship professional. I need to keep this relationship professional if I’m going to work in this industry. I can’t manage athletes if I’m hooking up with them. You need to find someone else to play this game with.”
That last sentence is a slap to the face. Partly because she thinks all I want from her is some cheap hookup, partly because the thought of her with other men makes me insane, and partly because I know she’s not wrong.
“I should go,” she whispers sadly. “I need to pack. Our flight is early tomorrow.”
And then she turns. I almost reach for her. But Luke comes running around the corner of the main barn waving a hand at me, shouting something about mutton bustin’ as he races past Summer with an enthusiastic high five.
She turns to look back over her shoulder at me, her eyes pinched and confused. And I almost feel bad for touching her, because she wants it too, and I know she’s going to go beat herself up about it.
That’s what someone responsible would do.
But I’m not that responsible.
Which is why I only almost feel bad about touching Summer Hamilton. There isn’t a single other woman I want to play this game with.
18
Summer
Summer: I almost kissed the cowboy again.
Willa Calling
“Wait. So, you didn’t kiss him?” Willa sounds horrified by the prospect.
“No, Wils.” I huff out a breath, still jumbled this morning from my run in with Rhett yesterday. Still slightly embarrassed by my outburst when I slid off his horse and sulked the rest of the way back to the ranch. And still a little obsessed with the way it felt to have him pressed up against me while we doubled up on the way back.
Too good is what it felt like.
Oh, and I also have bruises on my inner thighs from riding like a bat out of hell to rescue Rhett from what I was envisioning as some sort of hillbilly showdown in my head.
“That’s disappointing. You’re such a bore sometimes. A young, hot bore who should be living it up.” She sighs and takes a bite of something crunchy on the other end of the line.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, bestie. How’s your dating life then if I’m so boring?”
“Meh. Every time I think I’ve met someone, they either end up boring me to death or just wanting to tell me what to do.”
I laugh. “Godspeed to the man who tries to tell Willa Grant what to do.”
“Amen,” is my friend’s solemn reply.
“It’s okay to put yourself first. Don’t settle, Wils.”
She’s quiet for a few moments. All I can hear is her chewing. Probably cookies. She loves baking. “You should take your own advice.”
I grunt at that. I guess if I’m going to hit her with truth bombs, she can do the same to me. “I’ll try if you do.”
“Okay.” I can hear the smile in her voice now. “Keep me posted on how riding the cowboy goes.”
I shake my head and say, “Love you, psycho,” before hanging up on her.
I head down to the cozy kitchen to have a cup of coffee before Rhett and I need to leave for the airport.
Butterflies dance in my stomach at the thought of coming face to face with him after practically climbing him last night. He was the perfect gentleman, never taking more than I was willing to give. But there’s this part of me that wishes he had. Then I wouldn’t be kicking myself for not telling him to kiss me again.
Because I just know that having Rhett Eaton kiss me for real, not because my ex is watching, would be different. Good different.
And I don’t know if I’m ready to cross that line with him. We’re already dangerously close, closer than is professional, but not career-ruining levels of unprofessional.
Friends.
I huff out a quiet laugh at how adept I am at lying to myself as I round the corner into the kitchen and plaster on my go-to smile, the one I wear like a suit of armor.
But I don’t need it. The only people here are Harvey and Cade.
“Good morning,” I sing-song as I breeze in and grab myself a mug from the wooden cabinet.
“Good morning, Summer,” Harvey smiles kindly, as always.
Cade crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. I think he offers a low grunt and a tip of his chin in way of greeting.
“Not a morning person, Cade?” I ask, knowing that I’m poking the bear and not really caring. He could use some poking.
“I’m a rancher. Of course, I’m a morning person. I’ve been up for hours already.”
I pour myself the last cup of coffee, lean back against the counter, and smile at him over the lip of the mug. “So, it’s just good moods in general that you have something against?”
His cheek tugs up momentarily before he hides it with his own cup of coffee. “No, I’m just working myself up to apologizing.”