Stables (Black Gulch Ranch #2)

18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Char

Why didn’t he?

I wanted him to, so badly.

But the only time he touched me, was to pull my hand away.

I’m an idiot. All I can think about is for him to…want me.

He’s here. That has to count for something? Except it leaves me huddling in bed, cold and alone.

Maybe it’s for the best. I’m a fucking train wreck.

There has to be a glaring neon sign on my forehead that flashes “warning” every time he looks at me.

Silly me. Wanting something I can’t have should be the penance I pay for the stupid decisions I’ve made in my life.

It’s why Dixon’s even here, because of those awful choices.

I’m the only one to blame. I just hate feeling this…empty.

Waking up early, I’m determined to show him how much I really do appreciate him. I know he doesn’t like coffee as much, so I’ll make him one of my favorite blends of tea to take with him to work.

As quietly as I can, I leave Paisley on my bed, my socks are silent on the old wooden floor skirting past the living room.

He’s magnificent with his bare chest and thick arm propped behind his head. There’s even space next to him on the worn cushion. I’m tempted to snuggle against him and bury my head into his shoulder like Paisley did last night.

Except my intentions aren’t quite as pure as hers.

No, he’s had his chances. If he was really interested, he’d have made some sort of move on me by now.

Wouldn’t he?

Am I that awful? Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me.

I’m ready, though. I’m so tired of being numb.

His long, even breaths are calming. I feel my heart beat slow to match his.

He sets the rhythm for my morning.

Steady. Sure.

In.

Then out.

Filling the pot with water.

Measuring out the herbs.

Two cups.

Catch the kettle before it whistles.

Pour.

His. Mine.

“Good morning.” His hoarse whisper should have startled me.

But it fits with the cadence of the dawn. Like he’s reset my clock.

“Hi.” I let my gaze wander over his dark messy hair, then the curly path that begins on his chest and leads down to the button of his jeans resting below his belly button.

I miss the boxer-briefs. They put on a better show.

“You’re up early.” He grabs the back of one of the seats by the table and flips it out. Sitting, he props one bare foot on the bottom rail of Paisley’s high chair.

He’s so casual, like he’s at home.

I just wish he was that comfortable with me.

“I felt bad you left without any breakfast yesterday, or even a drink.” Balancing one of the hot cups on a saucer, I bring it over and slide it onto the placemat next to him.

His eyes follow me as I fetch my own.

Threading around his knee, I sit as close as I can without touching him, nerves making my stomach quiver and my hands tremble.

He leans forward, our elbows almost brushing, to pick up his tea. Blowing tiny ripples across the surface, he takes a tentative sip.

“Oh, that’s a new one.” His brows pop up before he takes another sample. “The best one yet.” A smile tugs at his cheek.

Heat blossoms in my chest with his simple praise.

It’s becoming a drug, chasing his elusive smiles.

He sets his cup down, then runs his long fingers through his tousled hair. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

The tease in his deep voice strikes a tight cord in me.

Holding my breath, I let my fingers light on his thigh so precariously close to mine. “I don’t have to, you know.” I meet the fire of his gaze.

His sharp inhale echoes in the dim room. “Char—”

“Please.” I trace the curve of his knee. “Make me feel something?” I whisper, hating the desperation in my words.

But I’m so tired of dancing.

I need him to get rid of the exhaustion in my soul. To patch over the holes in my heart.

To help me forget the pain.

When his burning palm circles around my wrist, I know I made a mistake.

“Char. I’m not touching you until you trust me.” He’s so quiet, it’s a struggle to hear him over the pounding in my skull.

“I do, though.” Then why are tears burning in my eyes and a lump is forming in my throat?

He shakes his head, still holding my arm, he pulls me close enough to lay my fingers over his chest. “The things I want to do to you…” He trails off, his jaw clenching.

He reaches out, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a scalding path like he did the other night. “I want to break you. Shatter you into a million pieces.” Lacing his grip behind my head, he tugs me close enough that our noses nearly touch.

The golden flecks in his eyes flick between mine as our rapid breathing mingles.

Then he drops his gaze, our foreheads pressing, he pants as if he ran a marathon. “But if I did that now, it’d ruin us both.”

“You don’t want me.” It isn’t a question. I know it’s the truth.

What other reason would there be for him to reject me?

With one movement, he drags me onto his lap to straddle his hips, my legs dangling over the chilly linoleum.

“You tell me,” he growls. His mustache tickles my cheek as he flexes his thighs.

For the first time, I feel him.

Hard and huge, bulging against his zipper, he presses me with his barely restrained cock.

Only his jeans and my shorts stand between me and his monster.

The insane urge to rock forward moves my pelvis on its own, and his lids hood his eyes until his teeth grind.

Abruptly, his hands circle my waist and he shifts me back to my chair. Standing, he moves into the living room, leaving me hollow and cold in the kitchen.

I don’t understand.

We both want this. There’s a void in me that is begging to be filled.

Curling my knees against my chest, I stare at our steaming cups.

He’s so much more than I expected.

And I do want him, so badly I might explode.

But I think he’s right. Am I willing to give in?

Or is there still a part of me that’s scared and just hoping to hide behind a physical escape.

Fuck.

Unfolding myself from the stiff chair, I rise with a mission to find him before he leaves.

“Dixon, I—”

His palms cup my jaw, framing my face, he tilts my chin.

“Soon,” he husks before his soft lips find my forehead, the day old whiskers scratching the bridge of my nose, then he releases me.

After grabbing his duffel, he pauses at the door, silhouetted by the streaming morning sun.

All muscles and man, filling the frame before he shuts it behind him.

Trust .

Do I?

I’m standing on the edge of it. Like a cliff above an ocean, I know if I take the leap, I could end up dashed apart on the rocks below.

Or, he could teach me how to fly.