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The image of Birdie rose to the forefront of my memory. Partially standing over me at lunch, attempting to mop up the water dripping down my chest. The sky-blue cashmere sweater she wore gaped open at the collar, providing a teasing glimpse of cleavage—softly mounded, heavy breasts that made me weak at the goddamn knees.
A better man would look away and give her privacy. A decent man wouldn’t stare the way I did.
That damn sweater made her skin look soft enough to touch, to kiss.
I thought I was too old for this—craving a woman so deeply that I went blind with it. Losing my common sense as I battled the desire to fill my hands with her bare curves. My iron will had built this ranch from a few scrawny heads of cattle and a dozen acres of scrubby grassland into the empire it was now. Although it seemed that my iron will didn’t stand a chance against Birdie Knowles.
If we were alone, I’d have you in my lap right now, and I wouldn’t be a gentleman about it.
Fuck, I never talked like that. Not even with my ex-wife. She hated that I rarely said anything in bed. With Birdie, it had simply popped out before I realized what I was thinking. I usually had more self-control than that.
She hadn’t backed down either. Birdie held my gaze, with her hand on my chest and my heart racing at top speed.
Is that a threat or a promise?
She always looked as pretty as a posy—colorful, delicate, feminine, with an endearing flush to her cheeks, and bright eyes. By all rights, she should be completely at odds with the ranch and everything I stood for. Even with the comfort of money, it was still a tough way of life, and Birdie should have wilted under it.
Instead, she seemed to lean into the challenge of being around me. Most women scampered out of my way, but she didn’t budge.
My cock throbbed beneath the sheets. Just thinking about Birdie’s curvy hips in my lap as I sucked a bruising kiss into those gorgeous, creamy white breasts had me half-hard. I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up like this—aching and ravenous.
My breathing grew shallow in the darkness as I stood on the edge of surrender. I told myself I wouldn’t fall for another woman as fast as I fell for my ex-wife. A cold shower would knock me down a peg and get my hot blood to calm down. A cup of black, bitter coffee would set me straight. Getting my ass in the saddle would get my mind off Birdie and back to business as usual.
The problem was that I didn’t want to stop thinking about Birdie. Not right now. I would rather revel in the fantasy of her skin against mine, and the way she would sigh so perfectly as I slid inside her.
I shoved my sweatpants down and wrapped my palm around my cock. In a few minutes, my alarm would go off. So, I kept my eyes firmly closed, picturing a naked Birdie perched on my lap. My mouth watered as I imagined drawing one of her nipples between my teeth, grabbing a fistful of that plump ass, coaxing her to ride me until she fell apart and I made her mine.
With a groan, I thrust up into my hand, wishing it was Birdie’s tight, slick heat gripping me like a vise. I swore I could feel her soft, warm palms anchored on my chest in the dark. If only she could be here now, working herself on my cock with her head tipped back in ecstasy.
I came hard, spilling over my fingers. This woman had me waking up horny and jerking off like a sexually frustrated teenage boy. A small needle of fear prickled the back of my mind with the realization. Things had moved so fast with my ex-wife, and in the end, it had been a mistake.
With Birdie, things were moving even faster—at lightning speed. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. But there was a level of certainty with Birdie that I never experienced with my ex-wife. Maybe that certainty was some kind of wisdom that came with my older years. Birdie made me feel alive again, igniting a protectiveness over her even though she didn’t need protecting. She could handle herself and she’d already proven that.
She knew exactly what kind of man I was, and it didn’t scare her off. That was rare—a gem I couldn’t afford to lose.
On Friday, I lost track of time. Dropping off cattle at an auction two towns over took longer than I’d planned. When I got back to High Plains, there were flowers bursting everywhere. Spires of snapdragons in peachy pinks, russet reds, pumpkin oranges, and golden yellows. Bushels of big, nodding sunflowers. Swaths of thick evergreens tied with harvest-colored plaid ribbons.
Birdie had been here, dropping off the floral arrangements as she’d promised. I glanced around, my heart in my throat, hoping to see her again.
“You just missed her.”
I turned to see Avery standing on the porch, shielding her eyes with one hand. Textbooks were sprawled on the table behind her.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said. A blatant lie that would never escape Avery’s notice.
“Your poker face is usually better than that,” she replied.
I grimaced and scrubbed the back of my neck, kicking a rock away with the toe of my boot until it skittered across the driveway. I had no intention of hiding my budding relationship with Birdie, but Avery would want to talk about it. I was still adjusting to the whole concept myself—dating and falling in love again after a divorce.
Avery was only twenty-five years old, with the confidence and resilience of youth. She didn’t know what it was like to get married, build a life together, start a family, and then watch it fall apart. She didn’t know what it was like to approach the precipice of a second chance at happily ever after, wondering if the jump is going to break every bone in your body all over again like it did the first time.
“It’s not my poker face,” I countered. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Well, you’re not exactly saying much.”
The memory of this morning returned to mind, thinking of Birdie as I came. And my daughter did not need to know that.
“She left something for you,” Avery added.
