Were you worried about staying at a stranger’s house your first night in Texas?
Surprisingly, no.
Not concerned that he might try to take advantage of you?
Sarah gurgled on a laugh as she followed him up the staircase and down a narrow hallway. Are you kidding? I bet he locks his bedroom door tonight.
Tony turned and frowned as if her amusement annoyed him. He opened the door to a small guest bedroom and placed her luggage beside the white wrought-iron twin bed that boasted a surprisingly delicate flowered quilt atop it.
“You need anything?” he asked in a tone that implied he’d prefer if she didn’t.
If you only knew.
Or maybe you do and you’re not interested.
She blushed. “All set.” He was stepping out the door when she spontaneously said, “Tony . . .”
With a hand on the doorknob, he turned and raised one eyebrow in question.
Stay.
Nothing in his expression indicated that he would be the slightest bit tempted to, so instead she said, “Thank you.”
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
Sarah tossed her notebook on the oak nightstand beside the bed and flopped onto a mattress that felt as cold and unwelcoming as the man who had led her to it.
Just because Texas wasn’t living up to her fantasy, the trip wasn’t a complete wash. I didn’t come here to meet a man. Honestly, I didn’t really come to see Lucy, either. I came to find my story.
She rolled onto her stomach and reached for her notebook. Pen met paper with an enthusiasm she’d feared she’d never experience. First she recorded what she didn’t want to forget about the trip, then she tried to capture as much as possible of the story she’d been outlining in her head all day. Two hours later, she flipped back to the first page, reread everything she’d written and wrote her painful realizations at the end: I’ll need more than my personal experience if this book is going to have sex scenes.
Is that really how it was? No wonder we broke up. Why did it take me this long to realize how bad it was?
Twenty-five and I’ve never orgasmed.
What is my problem?
Maybe I was born with a hyperactive imagination but subpar bits and pieces.
Looking around the room and feeling a bit guilty, Sarah stepped out of her shoes, pants, and underwear, then slid beneath the flowered quilt. She ran her hand down her stomach and over her short pubic hair.
Everyone does it.
Some even suggest it as a way to improve your sex life. If you know what pleases you, then you can guide your partner and all that crap.
She had to admit that it felt good to touch herself. She rubbed back and forth a few times, stopping occasionally when she was convinced she heard a sound at the door. She rubbed harder. She rubbed faster. She flipped onto her stomach and rubbed herself against her hand.
Ow, hand cramp. Great. She gave up with a pathetic sigh of resignation and buried her face in her pillow in disgust. Oh God, I have problems.
Rolling onto her side, she reached for her notebook again and wrote a sarcastic note in the margin: First attempt at masturbation—fail. Change book title to “Ultimate Celibacy: When Even You Don’t Want You.”
She threw the notebook back onto the nightstand. I thought we had a deal, Texas. You are seriously disappointing me.
Down the hall, clad only in cotton boxers, Tony lay on top of his blankets with his hands clasped behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. I should have thrown her out the moment I met her. No one was as innocent as she pretended to be. The whole story about confusing my horse ranch with a cattle ranch sounded far-fetched from the beginning, but I wanted to believe it.
He should have told her to leave when he caught her with the damning evidence of her notebook. He’d spent too many years avoiding interviews and banning reporters from his property to change now just because she had a body a man wanted to bury himself in. He closed his eyes as if that would diminish how vividly he could remember her long, lean thighs and those deliciously high boots. Whoever she worked for had chosen poorly if they thought that a pair of perfectly shaped breasts and a tight ass would be enough to gain an exclusive interview.
So why is she still here?
The reason was standing erect and proud, straining beneath the thin cotton of his shorts. His cock didn’t care if his blonde angel was capable of deception. Was she sleeping? Was she lying there imagining, as he was, what would happen if he crossed the hall and knocked on her door?
I should let her believe she’s conned me and test exactly how far she’s willing to go to get her story. Hell, if she’s good enough, I might even give her a quote to take with her when I throw her cute little ass off my property tomorrow.
He rolled onto his side and punched the pillow before settling his head upon it. Even after seeing the notebook, there was a part of him that didn’t want to believe he’d been wrong about her. Those brown eyes were so deceptively open and trusting. The memory of them warmed his stomach in a way that confused him.