Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I took the bottle from him, startled when he shifted and lay flat on the couch, putting his head on my lap. I stared at him, shocked, breathing deeply. There was a man sprawled across my thighs. I closed my eyes, trying to fight back the memory of the last person who had done this to me.
As if he could see the war inside my head, Cowboy asked, “You want me to move, cher?”
My eyes sprang open. My heart friggin’ melted at the sincere look in his eyes and the fact that he had understood I found it hard.
That he had given me a choice.
“No,” I whispered. Cowboy looked up at me. I gave him a shaky smile and moved his Stetson off his head. I placed the hat on the floor and lowered my nervous hand to his forehead. Cowboy closed his eyes and sighed.
“That feels real fucking good, cher.”
My hand faltered when I heard the echo of another voice in my mind. “That feels so good, mi rosa . . .”
My breathing sped up, too lost in the memory of the past. But I was guided from the nightmare when calloused fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed. “You’re safe, cher,” Cowboy’s soft, beautifully accented voice soothed.
I looked down at the man lying next to me. It was a small matter. Just a tiny fucking thing, really, but I never thought I would get to this point. After all that happened in Mexico, I never thought I’d ever be like this with another man.
Something as simple as a head on my lap felt like the biggest leap I’d ever made.
Feeling brave, I took my free hand and brought it to Cowboy’s hair. “You got hair to die for, darlin’. You know that?”
Cowboy grinned. “It’s what all the bitches tell me.” His face adopted a serious expression. “I’m thinking of becoming a shampoo-commercial model.” He blinked, looking anything but the innocent man he was trying to play. “Think I have what it takes?” I lightly pulled on his hair and shrugged. “Damn, cher.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Keep doing that and I’ll forget my injured wrist and let you pull on something else.”
“Shut up,” I said, pretending to be annoyed. I pushed his head, but the stubborn asshole just placed it back in my lap. I couldn’t help but laugh, the humor breaking the heavy weight my memories had briefly placed on me.
Cowboy’s eyes closed as I raked the blond strands with my fingers. We stayed like that for ages, me still smiling like a fool, until Hush walked in the door. He froze, his eyes zeroing in on us.
My hand stilled, and Cowboy opened his eyes. “I was enjoying that, cher. Don’t stop.” He closed his eyes again, but my eyes remained locked on Hush’s. His cheeks flushed, and I saw his hands tighten into fists at his side.
I released my hand from Cowboy’s hair to move the ice bag back into place. All the time Hush held my stare, like he couldn’t look away from the sight of his best friend and me on the couch. But I didn’t see hatred or jealousy on his face. No, in fact, I saw what looked like longing . . . and my fucking heart tore. Hush stood rooted to the spot. He stared. I stared. And for the first time since he’d come to stay at my ranch, I didn’t see indifference or coldness when he looked at me. But warmth. Such blazing heat that I felt as though I were sitting beside a burning fire.
Heat for me . . . That fire was for me.
“Come sit down,” I found myself whispering, barely breaking the silence that had blanketed the room. Cowboy’s breathing had evened out. I thought he had fallen asleep, but when he moved his legs, creating a space for his best friend, I knew he could hear every word.
My usual response to things was to smile. Crack a joke. Be a smart-ass. But there was just something about Hush that made all of that fall away. The deep dark part of me that I suppressed, every second of every day, reacted to Hush’s presence. Like he was trying to escape the same kind of darkness that lived in me too.
My jokes and sass didn’t belong around Hush.
He somehow made me . . . vulnerable. Something I wasn’t used to fucking being with anyone.
Hush’s eyes fell to the space on the couch. I had no idea what was going on in his mind, but I saw the moment he decided to walk away from us. The ice-cold frost that was a permanent fixture in his eyes was back. “I’ll make us something to eat,” he mumbled and moved toward the kitchen.
Acting on instinct, I took hold of his fingers with my own as he passed. Hush stopped dead and squeezed his eyes shut. His chest rose and fell, his breathing slow. His fingers were so damn cold.