Page 17 of Never Enough

So this is no big deal to be seeing the muscled lines of his back and the tan lines at his neck and biceps, revealing how much he works outside in the hot Texas sun.

“You should wear sunscreen,” I find myself saying. But I don’t overanalyze it. I’m just a safety girl.

He glances at me over his shoulder. His gaze drops from my face to travel down my body, then slowly back up.

My nipples tighten under his heated stare. Inside my head, I’m having an ALL CAPS freak out.

I’M IN HENRY’S BEDROOM.

I’M GOING TO SLEEP IN HENRY’S BED. WITH HENRY.

Finally, he looks away from me, which allows my brain a moment to stop panicking.

“You know I keep baker’s hours. You don’t have to go to bed as early as I do. You can do whatever it is you normally do at night when I’m not here.”

“Baker’s hours aren’t much different from rancher’s hours,” he says.

“Right.”

I’m doing my very best not to stare at all the naked skin he’s showing. His broad chest and thickly muscled torso, and those impossibly thick thighs sprinkled with light brown hair. I’ve got half a mind to tell him to cover himself up and stop being such a thirst trap, but I don’t want to give him that kind of leverage.

“Do you need anything before I go lock up?” he asks.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice to answer.

What is wrong with me? He’s just a man.

But he’s not. Not really. Henry has always been more.

Don’t wait for me, Gracie Lynn. We don’t belong together.

His words from so many years ago flash through me as they have hundreds of times before. Funny how the pain from that rejection hasn’t faded even a little. I know what that means. The reason why his gentle refusal still causes pain to stab at my heart.

I still love him.

As much as I wish I didn’t, that is my reality.

chapter

six

Henry

I have to force my gaze off of her wearing nothing but that thin t-shirt. Her tight little nipples are pressed against the fabric, begging for my attention. I adjust my semi-hard dick and stand to go make sure the house is locked up.

“Bayou, bed,” I tell my dog. She happily pads over to her dog bed against the far wall of my room.

Our room. Mine and Gracie’s. I’m beginning to rethink asking Oliver to move out. If he was here, my wife would be in my bed every night. What sweet torture.

I come back into the bedroom and find Gracie standing in the same place I left her. Beside the bed, but not in the bed.

“Do you need something?” I ask.

“I’m okay,” she says. “This is okay. This is fine. It’s totally fine.”

“You've said 'fine' several times.”

“And I meant it every time.”