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“It might take a little time for me to get something of Romey’s from her house, and I don’t know how Storm will do since it’s been raining the last couple of days and he doesn’t have a lot of experience tracking in a wet environment.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, baby, I’ll keep you updated.”

“Okay,” I murmur, then listen to him tell me goodbye before I hang up. Tucking my cell away, I bite my lip, hoping that Storm is able to track down Romey and that she is okay. But right then the sky opens up, and it begins to pour down rain.

Chapter 22:

Beard Burn

Genevieve

Standing in front of the mirror in Wyatt’s bathroom with Storm lying on the tile floor at my feet, I half listen to Wyatt in the kitchen, talking to my mom on the phone about today’s schedule. It’s Saturday, which means that Wyatt will be doing a Q and A at the fall festival this afternoon after Mike gives him a glowing recommendation. And I have no doubt it will be glowing, since my mom met with Mike yesterday and gave him some talking points and a few key things to say before inviting Wyatt up onstage and introducing him.

Having listened to Wyatt quietly complain about this to me for the last few days, I know that he is not looking forward to talking in front of a crowd of people or having to try and convince anyone why he’s the right choice for sheriff. I also know that it’s something he needs to do if he’s going to win because Joe has stepped up his game and begun running ads. Personally, after doing a little research and hearing some stuff from Wyatt, I know who I would be voting for even if I wasn’t sleeping with the man running for the position. But I also know that not everyone does research; they just vote for whoever fits the mold of every other person they have voted for, even at the cost of their own best interest.

Looking at my reflection, I swipe on my bronzer and blend it in, then add some blush to my cheeks, swearing I look different. I’m sure it’s just my imagination and that I look like I always have, but I feel like I’m glowing. The last few days I’ve felt lighter, happier, and more at peace than I have in years. I don’t even remember being this happy before I met Johnathan, and I for sure don’t remember being this happy while I was in a relationship with him.

What does that tell me?

Well, first, getting multiple orgasms a day is good for my mental health.

Second, what I had with Johnathan wouldn’t have lasted even if he didn’t cheat, and third . . .

Well, third, I’m screwed.

It’s obvious that Wyatt has gotten under my skin, and there is no way I’m going to be able to just walk away from this thing without a few scars. And despite the newness, I have a feeling that those scars will go deep. If I was smart and using my head, I might attempt to get out now, but the idea of walking away makes my stomach hurt.

When I’m finally finished, I put all my makeup back in my makeup bag, then carry it into Wyatt’s room and drop it in the overnight bag that has taken up permanent residence on the chair in his room.

“Your mom is going to be calling you, baby.” Wyatt walks into the room as I’m taking off the tee of his that I went to bed in last night.

“All right.” I watch him walk to the side of the bed and put down a cup of coffee on the nightstand. “She probably wants to know if I plan on meeting her at the festival or if we are driving together,” I tell him, putting on my bra, watching his eyes darken. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Stop looking like that.” He waves his hand over me, and my stupid heart flutters. Sure, I’ve been told my whole life that I’m beautiful by friends and family—even a few strangers have said it—but no one has ever made me feel as beautiful as he does with nothing more than a look.

When he starts walking toward me, I back up. “There is no time for you to touch me. You have to leave soon.”

“I’ll make time.” He attempts to get his arms around me, but I somehow manage to dodge him and run out of the room laughing. With the house being small, there is nowhere to hide, so he catches me in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck. The scruff on his jaw is rough on my skin and sends a spiral of sensations down my spine, landing right between my legs. When my laughter becomes a moan, I spin to face him and get up on my tiptoes, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, dragging his mouth down to mine, while he backs me into the counter and then lifts me up to sit on it. When he yanks me against him, I almost come right then and there. I love that he’s rough with me, that it seems like he wants more even when he has me.

My cell or his starts ringing from the other room as his hands start to slide up the top of my thigh, and I’m quickly reminded that we have things to do today, and those things do not involve us fucking on the kitchen counter. That sucks, but being an adult sucks most of the time.

Yanking my mouth from his, I put pressure on his chest with both my hands.

“I need to finish getting ready, and we both need to leave too.” Groaning, he drops his forehead to mine. “What time do you think you’ll be off work tonight?”

“Six or seven, depending on what’s going on.” I want to pout, but I fight the urge. “Tiffany asked if I wanted to get a drink with her later.” He leans back to look at me, and I roll my eyes. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s thinking about the last time I was out at the bar with him there. “I’ll have you know that I don’t regularly throw drinks in men’s faces when I go out with my friends.”

“And please avoid doing that tonight.” He pulls me off the counter, takes my hand, and leads me back to the bedroom. “I’ll leave you with a key so that you can get in if I’m not home.”

“Okay.” I grab the top I’m wearing today and put it on, then drag on my jeans. After cinching my belt around my waist, I put on my heels, then grab my phone.

Seeing that it was my mom who called, I send her a text asking if she wants to meet at the festival or at the office. She messages back that she will meet me at her booth at the festival. Her booth is the one she sets up every year for the real estate agency, but this year it is doubling as Wyatt’s campaign booth. Then she sends another message that makes my stomach drop.

I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there.

“What happened?” Wyatt asks, and I look over at him.