Page 44 of Untamed
“Well yeah, it’s scary.” He laughs, the sound sparking my own because it’s so damn captivating and he’s so damn pretty. “Probably to a level that it shouldn’t be, but it’s also more gratifying than anything I’ve experienced in my life.” He laughs again, the sound soft in the quiet of the barn. “If you conquer a one-ton beast, you’re thinkin’ pretty high of yourself. Once you do it, that’s it. There’s no getting it out of your blood.”
We’re quiet, and I think he’s going to get up and leave—there’s an uneasiness in his posture. “I’m about done for the night.” And then he adds, “I’m leaving in a few days.” The way he says this, makes me see that it’s more of a warning than a statement. Like he’s letting me know he sees that look in my eyes. As much as I don’t want that look, I can’t help it.
It’s nearing one in the morning when Grayer is loading up his tools. I don’t want the night to end. I know it’s considered morning now, but I don’t want him to leave. I’m comfortable around him. Like even if I weren’tinsanelyattracted to him, I would still want him around. Reminds me of someone I used to know.
As he’s packing up, I step outside into the horse corrals and sit on the fence posts looking up at the night sky where thousands of stars light up the darkness.
Just when I think I’m going to hear that throaty rumble of his truck, I don’t. He’s next to me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. Like he doesn’t make me insanely nervous.
“I gotta get goin’ . . .” He pauses, taping his knuckles against the post I’m sitting on. “But thanks for the help.”
Oh shit, he’s being polite and it’s adorable. A welcome change from the coldness I was met with earlier. “I don’t mind helping you out.”
Squinting at me, he bites down on the corner of his bottom lip, contemplating what he’s going to say, but still, withholding so much. I think he’s gonna turn around and leave, but he doesn’t, and instead, he looks up at the stars. I do the same, breathing in deeply. Shit, say something meaningful, poetic . . . something to let him know you’re not the slut he seems to think you are.
His gaze returns to mine, saying nothing—at least not with words—and takes a step toward me. My face is suddenly between his palms.
He’s totally going to kiss you again.
I’m inches from his lips, his breath on mine as he stands between my legs. The awareness of his skin on mine is electrifying and the sensations so terrifying. He doesn’t grin like I expect him to. I can’t tell what his reaction is at all. Slowly, his thumb moves over my lips, his eyes burning into mine. He studies me for a beat, then brings his lips to mine, gentle, pure, hesitant to go further. That kiss . . . it belongs in a storybook for the magical semblance of hope it gives me. Like I don’t have to be broken. Like it’s okay to be scared and not know who I am. With him near, nothing’s scary.
And before I have the chance to make something more of the kiss, or decipher its meaning, he’s gone, his body shifting away from mine. Raising his hand, he pushes my hair from my face to cup my cheek. Leaning forward again, he gives me another gentle kiss. My lips part over his, wanting so much more than he’s willing to give.
He pulls back. Unsure what he’s going to do next, I swallow.
I blink.
I wait.
He swallows, blinks, watches my reaction with his brows pulled together.
“Say something, damn it.”
With a sigh, he leans in, his mouth lingering over my ear. “Night,” he whispers, sending shivers through my soul. It’s almost too much, enough that I have to grip the post I’m sitting on to keep from falling off. His eyes sweep over me, land on my necklace I never take off. I can tell, once again he wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he runs his fingertip over the feather. Tears sting my eyes, but they don’t let loose.
When he’s walking away, I look back up at that starry night and smile. And I have no idea why I am. Maybe because my perfectly flawed heart is crushing on slow drinking whiskey and a scruffy jaw.
