Page 35 of Tame Our Wild

When Colson pulled into the long driveway, I was expecting a ranch. But what I wasn’t expecting was the pristine white fences concealing what seems like acres upon acres of rolling fields dotted with cattle. The grass may be brown now since it’s winter, but I can only imagine how breathtaking these pastures are when the grass and wildflowers push through the earth.

A part of me is hoping this arrangement lasts so I can see everything green and lush in the spring. I may have been raised in the mountainous parts of Arizona, but I don’t get to experience lush greens.

As we crawled up the driveway, a smaller barn came into view, its natural wood contrasting perfectly with the white, wood-framed ranch-style house. Then, not far from the small barn, was a larger white building that looked like a stable.

This house is so … pristine.

It is white, pure, and modern. It’s the kind of place I think should be featured in one of those magazines that feature rustic homes that blend with contemporary elegance. It feels like a display, yet it still has those personal photos and family memorabilia on the walls that signify the past—one that’s gone but not forgotten. It has the pieces that preserve time, and I’m so curious about the family that lingers in the pictures.

It’s a beautiful home, but I can’t help but wonder where the log cabin-style farmhouse that I imagined Colson having is in my head.

From the short time I wandered—which was pretty much only the entryway, up the stairs, and through the hallway to the room I’m staying in—I glanced at only a few posed family photographs of Colson and three other people, who I can only assume are his parents and his sister. It makes me wonder where they are if this entire property is his now.

The one photo I found myself staring at was on the staircase wall. The middle-aged couple was holding each other close, leaning against a wood fence. Colson was on one side of them, sitting on top, and his sister, who looks so similar to him, was on the other side. They are all smiling. Happy. But there is something about it that makes my heart beat a little faster, and I’m not sure why.

I stretch out my limbs on the king bed, enjoying the way my muscles pull. Tomorrow, I need to stretch properly and take time releasing the strain in my body after two long flights.

When Colson showed me the guest room, I nearly jumped into bed. He helped me bring up my bags, cradling the broken one in those massive, thick arms as he struggled to keep the contents inside. We didn’t need another vibrator accident, so that was safely tucked away in my purse. I’m still mortified that he touched it.

Now the next time I use it, I’m going to think of his hands instead.

After he set down my luggage, he showed me the bathroom down the hall and the wooden dresser, telling me to make myself at home and that if I needed anything, his bedroom is across from mine. He knows how to wield his sex appeal to get what he wants, so I wasn’t sure how to take that comment, especially after he touched a toy I use to get myself off.

I wonder what was going through his mind when he held it.

“A real man needs only three things to make a woman come correctly. His tongue. His cock. And his fingers.”

I internally dismiss the mental images. The arrogance this man carries is potent—but I’m also competitive as hell, and I was half tempted to ask him to prove it.

Then he left me alone and said he had to check on the horses and water troughs. Five minutes later, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I turn over to lie on my side, my pulse races. I must have taken a long nap. The sky out the window has turned into a dusty, dark blue, hinting that I slept in much later than I intended. I snatch my phone from the bedside table, checking the time. It’s almost eight in the evening. Geez, I slept for almost half a day.

My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it as my attention is drawn to a soft blanket of light reflecting off the ceiling. Swinging my legs over the side, I stand. Ambling up to the second-story window, I peer down, scanning the area below my bedroom. Instantly, my focus finds the cloud of steam rising into the cool late-evening air.

Below, dainty exposed bulbs are woven over the deck. Colson is perched on the edge of a hot tub with his legs in the water and a beer in his hand, looking at ease in a way I’ve never seen him before. It’s odd to watch him in his natural habitat as he stares out past the dark yard, at the expanse of pastures and forest beyond.

As if he knows he’s being watched, his broad shoulders tauten, trapping my breath in my lungs. His chin brushes his shoulder, his gaze lifting to pin me in place. He smirks and lifts his beer to his lips before turning back around.

Well, shit. I’m caught now.

Do I go down there and get in with him? No, I can’t do that. That would be a little too friendly considering our current standings with each other.

As if my muscles are protesting my decision, they clench, begging to feel the hot water on my skin and the warmth that would seep through my flesh.

Food forgotten, I pad across the room and dig through my bag, pulling out a swimsuit.

This bedroom is simple but comfortable. The walls are painted an off-white, with a wood-paneled ceiling that gives it a rustic feel. Black-and-white photos of farmland and nature hang on the walls, with a lasso hanging from a nail for decoration rather than practical use. The bed features a soft brown comforter, one of those colors that draws you closer, making you want to test whether it is as cozy as it appears. He told me when I arrived that he’d bought the ranch from his parents when they decided to move. With how impeccable every detail is, I’m guessing his mom was the decorator; he just hasn’t changed much.

I peel off my leggings and shirt, slipping into my bikini, which, for some reason, feels way smaller than it did a month ago when I used the sauna at the gym back home. I grab a towel from the bathroom, twist my hair into a messy bun, and head downstairs, crossing the open floor plan lined with towering windows and sliding glass doors that open onto a deck.

I pause, unsure why my heart is battering the way it is against my rib cage. It’s my first night in a new place.

With him.

It’s only normal that I’m feeling the uncomfortable sensation of something unknown tugging at my chest.

This house is stunning. The main floor features wood beams that cross the ceiling. An old, metal-looking chandelier hangs over the couches and area rug. The rock fireplace crawls up the entire wall, the only light coming from the flicker of the fire in the hearth and the lamps on either side of the brown sectional. It gives the space a calming glow that I could sink into. Might not be a horrible place to spend the next several months of my life.