We play until the mosquitoes stop biting and my fingers lose feeling, and through it all, I share lingering glances with Jake.
His hat sits low on his brow, his expression a little broody, a little dreamy. It’s hard to get a read on what’s churning in the dark intensity of those eyes.
When I close the song, I tilt my chin. “What?”
“I always loved seeing you wear my things.” His gaze lifts to the Stetson on my head.
“Oh.” I forgot about that.
“Play Coe.” He kicks a boot up on the coffee table between us, his hands folded on his abs.
“What song?”
“You pick.”
“Hmm.” I consider for a moment.
If he wants David Allan Coe, I’ll give him the king of cowboy porn.
As I strum the opening chords of Don’t Bite The Dick, he and Jarret burst out laughing.
“Come on, now.” My fingers move faster, my mouth loosening into a smile. “You boys used to love this one.”
Once upon a time, I hummed the entire song while giving Jake head.
I feel like that girl again as I belt out the raunchy lyrics with a nasally twang in my voice.
The guys join in, singing and laughing through the words, and I let myself laugh, too.
I’m finally home.
The doorbell rings at seven o’clock the next morning.
I crawl out of the silky, lonely torment of Jake’s bed and shuffle through the room. He and Jarret have probably been in the pasture since before dawn, which leaves me to answer the door in a sleepy-eyed stupor.
Down the hall, around the corner, I enter the foyer and slam to a stop.
Miles stands on the front porch, squinting through the screen.
Okay, I know I left him hanging after that silent call last night, but what the ever-loving fuck?
He straightens when he sees me approach. “Conor, what’s going on?”
“I should ask you the same thing.” I pause at the door and narrow my eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Your text message?” His head tips to the side. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
“What text mess…?” I suck in a sharp breath.
Jake has my phone.
Boy, do I have a bone to pick with him.
“Wow, so you drove all the way here?” I run a hand over my sleep-tangled hair and step onto the porch. “You must’ve left before six?”
“You told me to come as soon as possible.” He purses his lips, his eyes squinting with suspicion. “You said it was urgent.”
Since I never told Miles what ranch I grew up on, I assume the text included this address.
In Jake’s infinite wisdom to meddle in my life, it would’ve been nice to give me a goddamn head’s up about this.
On the bright side, his arrogant, domineering ass is off herding cattle. That means I’ll be able to handle this situation without him hovering in my pocket like a stage five clinger.
“You grew up here?” Miles looks around, mouth parted and eyebrows creeping toward his perfectly combed hair. “Your family must’ve been loaded.”
Maybe? I never looked into the inheritance Dalton left when he died. Half of it belongs to Lorne, and since I let my brother deal with the paperwork, my inquiries would have to go through him.
The deep porch wraps around the front of the estate, providing multiple seating areas. I could invite Miles to sit, have a little talk, and drag a confession out of him.
I look him in the eyes and wait for the resentment, outrage, or whatever I’m supposed to be experiencing. I feel sadness, I guess. I liked him, but I didn’t love him.
And I have no interest in dragging this out.
“I know you’re sleeping with Kendra Forde.”
“What?” His face pales. “We talked about this. I didn’t—”
“Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining! You fucked her in our bed, Miles.” I shake my head. “I’ll move my things out in a couple of weeks. You need to go.”
I turn to open the door.
He grabs my elbow. “I can explain.”
“Let go.” I glare at his grip. Then his hard eyes.
“You’re ten kinds of fucked in the head, Conor.” He releases my arm.
A razor-sharp burn hits my throat, and I grab for the door, opening it.
He slaps it shut and holds a hand against it. My scalp tingles, and icy dread drips down my spine. His breathing sounds too fast, his body too tense.
“She actually enjoys sex.” He leans in, his expression cruel. “And multiple positions.”
“I want you to leave.” Needles prick the backs of my eyes as I yank on the door, unable to budge his hand. “Move. Right now!”
“You need help.” He clucks his tongue, his mouth twisting into a snarl. “Gorgeous girl like you… It’s a shame you can’t—”
He flies backward, off the porch and across the front lawn, with the back of his shirt caught in Jake’s fist. A second later, that fist blurs into swift, punishing arcs that land across Miles’ face over and over.