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I didn’t mean it like she clearly took it, judging by the look on her face.
I meant that I could never sleep with a woman one of my brothers had been inside. It’s a matter of principle. Fucking her would essentially be … incest, which is sick.
Not to mention, I have no idea how Duke feels about his ex. How could he not be sick over losing her and desperate to win her back?
And Dolly, who seems to think the sun rises and sets when Rosie walks into the room, would definitely not be okay with it. On her end, I get the Rosie obsession. She barely remembers our mother, and because of her illness, she couldn’t be a fully functioning teenage girl when it was her time. Rosie has never left her side.
I lie awake in the darkness, letting my body temperature return to a normal range as I listen to the noises of the ranch.
An owl hoots somewhere outside my window, followed by a coyote in the distance, signaling his pack.
Why the actual fuck did I just have a wet dream about Rosie Dixon?
The heat of the night starts getting to my head, making me remember what it was like to wake up in prison when the AC was broken and it felt like the Santa Fe desert in July. I throw the covers off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
The hallway is dark as I walk to the kitchen from memory. I don’t know what time it is, but based on the silence, everyone appears to still be sleeping.
A lamp on the countertop in the large kitchen illuminates the space. A plate of jumbo lemon-poppyseed muffins is in the center of one of the islands.
I reach for a clean glass in one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the refrigerator. The sound of me gulping it down is loud in my ears.
“Oh … I didn’t know anyone was up.”
My muscles tense instantly. I lower the cup, turning to face the sultry voice. Rosie is standing in the kitchen, biting her lip, staring at my shirtless torso with wide eyes. Her demeanor is a far cry from the woman who so boldly stood up to me yesterday, refusing to let me fire her. This version of her looks vulnerable and … shy somehow.
I look down at her hands to see a half-eaten bowl of my strawberry ice cream in her hands.
“What are you doing here?” No matter how much Dolly needs her, I can’t risk softening toward her, not when my subconscious clearly has other desires.
“Are you going to ask me that every time you see me in this house?” She cocks her head to the side, arching an eyebrow. She slides her spoon into the bowl, lifting the pink dessert up to her full lips. She leisurely tastes the sweetness with her lips.
I set the glass down on the countertop. The memory of what just happened in my head and in my sheets is still too fresh for me to be alone with her. I’m afraid of what I might do. My dick starts to fill with blood again. The physical boundary of the double kitchen islands between us is necessary for me to not consider reenacting the dream. I’m not used to fighting my desires for women. They’ve always come easily for me … in more ways than one.
The image of her perky nipples the night of the wet T-shirt contest clouds my gaze. I clench my fists, flexing my arms as I brace myself against the island.
I should walk away before that melted strawberry ice cream gets in places it shouldn’t.
“No, Dixon, I’m not. Just wondering, since it’s the middle of the night, if you’re really this dedicated of an employee or if there’s something else keeping you around.”
I keep my gaze on the veins in the marble, refusing to look up at her.
“Um, yeah, no. My car wouldn’t start. Duke told me to sleep on the couch.”
I scoff. “Duke told you that, did he?” I shake my head, finally meeting her gaze. “Surprised he didn’t invite you to share his bed.”
Maybe he did, and she turned it down.
“We’re not together anymore. Why do you keep bringing it up? It’s getting weird.” She hops up onto the countertop, swinging her legs in the air. She slowly licks off another bite of my ice cream. A pale pink drop lingers on her lips, activating my salivary glands and sending more blood into my groin.
Get it together.
“When I left, you were two little lovebirds, and all he talked about was how he couldn’t wait to get in your pants. Guess it’s hard to imagine y’all in a different dynamic.”
“Maybe you’re overthinking it. How often do you think about it?”
I force myself to physically relax my stance. She’s suspicious of my interest in her. She thinks it has something to do with me wanting her physically.
She’s not wrong, but it starts and ends with her sultry, feminine allure and the temptation of those lips tasting like sweet strawberries.
