Okay, so she wasn’t an expert on when-to-have-sex protocol.
But she knew one thing for certain.
You didn’t have sex with a stranger.
She didn’t, anyway. Never mind that it had been exciting and, God, incredible; never mind that she’d never had an orgasm before and on this night, in, what, five minutes, she’d had two.
Three, she thought, and she shut her eyes, remembered the liquid, hot feeling of Jake inside her, Jake taking her up and up and up …
Her eyes popped open.
“Are you out of your mind?” she said.
She had to be.
Or maybe she was just worn out.
Losing Charlie had been painful. The whispers had been agony. And then she’d come down here and found a ranch that looked like something out of a bad dream …
“Okay,” she said briskly.
Forget what had just happened.
Forget Jake Wilde.
Forget everything.
She would blank all of it from her mind. She’d blank out Texas, too, and Wilde’s Crossing. She belonged in New York, where life was a lot easier to understand.
She’d had enough.
To hell with finding out exactly what the ranch was worth.
“Charlie,” Addison muttered as she made her way upstairs, “forgive me, old friend, but I don’t like this place one little bit.”
Tomorrow, she’d contact the Realtor.
And go home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAKE SLEPT badly.
The truth was, he hardly slept at all but there was nothing new in that. He spent most nights tossing and t
urning, only to fall asleep and dream things that made him wake with his heart pounding, his skin drenched in sweat.
At least last night’s dreams had been different, he thought as he stood in the shower and let the water sluice down over him.
They hadn’t been nightmares about firefights and IEDs and men dying because he hadn’t been able to save them.
Last night’s dreams had been about the feel of a woman’s skin. The taste of her mouth. The scent of her hair.
The dreams had been about Addison, how it had felt to make love to her….
Jake frowned, shut off the water and reached for a towel.
Not love.