Page 35 of Unruly

Cash follows, crowding me until my back hits the counter. “Busy,” he repeats, voice low and rough. “That’s what you’re calling it now, Darlin’?”

We end up trapped in the corner by the fridge. He plants one hand on the counter beside me and the other on the fridge door, boxing me in completely. He’s so close I can smell the faint mix of his cologne, sweat, and the sun on his skin.

My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

Cash leans in, voice dropping to something filthy and intimate. “You kissed me like you were starving for it in that field. Now you’re standing here with your thighs pressed together like you’re trying not to think about how wet you are.”

My back presses against the counter behind me. “I told you, it was a mistake,” I whisper, making sure that if Colt walks in he hears nothing. “I meant it when I said there was nothing to talk about. Let it go, Cash.”

He huffs a dark little laugh, eyes dragging down my body before coming back to mine. “You’re a shit liar, Darlin’. Your body’s practically begging me to touch you right now.”

He shifts his hips forward and grinds his hard cock against me slowly. He’s thick and heavy through his jeans, pressing right where I’m aching.

A soft, wrecked sound slips out of me before I can stop it.

Cash groans quietly against my ear. “Fuck. Listen to that pretty little sound. You have no idea how badly I want to bend you over this counter and show you what a real man can do for you.”

My hands fist his shirt. I should push him away—he’s literally hell on wheels for me. Instead, I’m breathing hard, trapped between his body and the counter, consumed by how big he is. My thighs press together instinctively, trying to ease the throbbing ache between them, but it only makes it worse.

God, I want him.

I want his hands on me. I want his mouth. I want him to follow through on his filthy thoughts. The shame of how badly I want him burns hot in my chest, but it doesn’t stop the heat pooling low in my belly.

“Come on a date with me, Halle,” he murmurs, lips brushing my jaw in a way that makes my knees weak. “Let me take you out. Let me show you how good it can be when you stop running from this.”

I shake my head, even as my body arches toward him. “I can’t do this with you.” I force the words out, trying to believe them myself.

He leans in a fraction more, not quite touching me but close enough. “Your mouth says that, but your pussy is practically begging for me right now.”

The front door opens, Colt’s voice carrying down the hall. “I found it. It was buried under some shit. Sorry! Y’all good in there?”

I duck under Cash’s arm, heart hammering, face burning with a mix of shame and lingering arousal. “Yeah!” I call back, already moving away on shaky legs. “Cash was just helping me figure out whether I should stain or paint the cabinets once I get them started.”

Cash straightens out, putting one hand in his pocket and sliding the other off the counter. “Yeah.”

Colt glances between us, eyebrow raised slightly, but he doesn’t push. He checks the measurements, writing them all down for me.

After that, he double-checks the armoire placement to make sure I’m still happy with it. “All right; I’m all set. Let’s head out.”

I thank them both as I stand on the porch, watching them both pull out of the driveway and down the road. I wave like everything is normal but on the inside I’m anything but.

I close the door and lean against it with my eyes closed. My body is still buzzing from the proximity.

Cash’s voice echoes in my head—the way he crowded me, and the intensity in his gaze. I want him. There’s no denying the pull between us, but wanting and having are two different things. I know better; I’ve seen his game already.

I push off the door, and head toward the bathroom, peeling off my sweaty shirt as I go.

I need a shower.

And a fucking drink.

Maybe even both at the same time.

The bar is quiet tonight. Aria and Matt cut the music off as soon as the last person stepped out the front door. So now, it’s silent, except for the hum of the cooler since it’s a restock night. I’m wiping down the same glass for the third time, just to do something with my hands. With both Matt and Aria here, closing is a breeze. The three of us divide and conquer at break-neck speed.

Aria’s eyes find me from the other side of the bar, where she’s tallying inventory. Red glass of wine and pages for orders splayed out in front of her, she asks, “What’s eating at you? That glass isn’t going to get any cleaner.”

I shrug, setting it down and moving to a new glass. “Nothing. It was just a long day.”