I stare into the dark, eyes wide, biting my bottom lip hard as I listen to the soft sound of his breathing and feel the weight of his body, solid, real, and warm, curled protectively around me. Between my legs, his release spills, warm and sticky, arousing me all over again.
I lie awake long after he does, staring at the ceiling, feeling the unfamiliar ache of wanting something I know I can’t have. Something that’s never been for me.
18
CONWAY
When I’m halfway down the stairs, with lids still half gritted together with sleep, the floorboards groan behind me. I pause when the soft creak of a door breaks the silence again, narrowing my eyes into the dimness.
Jaxon steps out of Grace’s room.
He moves quietly across the worn floorboards, sleep shorts low on his hips, hair rumpled like he rolled out of a woman’s bed, which he damn well did. His shoulders are tense, head down, like a kid who knows he’s about to get caught sneaking home after curfew.
My jaw tightens.
He freezes when he sees me. His dark gaze locks with mine, flat and unapologetic, daring me to say something.
I don’t.
I stand frozen, fists clenched at my sides as he walks past without a word and doesn’t even try to explain.
Beau, the damn traitor who was sleeping outside Grace’s door, pushes against the almost closed door and pads into Grace’s room with a lazy flick of his tail.
I stare after him, still stunned at how comfortable he is with our guest. It’s like she’s slowly weaving a spell over all the inhabitants in this damned house. Against my better judgment, I step closer, intending to shut the door to give her privacy.
Instead, I find myself looking inside.
Grace lies curled in the center of the bed, tangled in white sheets, her shoulders bare and her face soft and peaceful in the early light. Her hair is wild across the pillow, her lips parted, her breathing slow and even. She looks like she belongs here. Like she’s already become part of this house in ways none of us prepared for.
I drag in a rough breath.
This can’t happen. Not like this. Not with her.
If she writes a single word about this… if she feels used, played, manipulated… everything we’ve built could shatter like glass under a boot. I shut the door quietly and shove my hat down low over my eyes. There’s work to be done, and I’ve got two sons-of-bitches to deal with before the sun hits the sky.
***
The sun barely brushes the edge of the pasture as we saddle up. Dylan and Corbin are already riding out, McCartney and Nash working the east herd. Harrison stays inside with the kids as planned.
I stalk toward the barn where my younger brothers, Jaxon and Levi, lean against the rail, talking low. Jaxon looks like hell, with dark circles shadowing his eyes and shoulders braced tight like a coiled spring. Levi’s too relaxed, like he always is when he knows he’s done something reckless and is waiting to charm his way out of it.
Not this time.
I step into their space, boots crunching hard against the dirt. Both men straighten when they notice me.
“We need to talk.” My voice cuts sharp in the cold air.
Jaxon’s mouth flattens into a hard line. Levi gives me that slow, easy grin that makes me want to hit him morethan I want to hear him out.
“About what, Con?” Levi says.
“You know damn well about what.” I shove my hands on my hips. “She’s here for the article. She’s here to help us secure the future we agreed on. You two are putting that at risk.”
Levi shrugs, too nonchalant. “She’s a grown woman, Conway. She can make her own decisions.”
“That isn’t the damn point.” My voice drops lower. “You think any of this works if she walks away feeling used? If she prints one line about how we dragged her into our beds the first day she was here?” I cut my glare to Jaxon. “That we’re a bunch of hillbilly fuck-boys looking for a good time with any skirt that comes our way. You think we’ll ever get a second chance?”
Jaxon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. He stares back at me, stone-faced, reminding me so much of our father that it hurts. “It wasn’t like that.”
