by Maisey Yates
Someday he would examine that. Not today.
“Okay,” she said, “come over after it’s dark.”
“This is like a covert operation.”
“Is that a problem?”
It really wasn’t. It was hypocritical of him to pretend otherwise. Hell, his last relationship—the one with Elizabeth—had been conducted almost entirely in secrecy because he had been going out of town to see her. That had been her choice, because she knew her association with him would be an issue for her family.
And, as he already established, he didn’t really want anyone to know about this thing with Maddy either. Still, sneaking around felt contrary to his nature too. In general, he didn’t really care what people thought about him. Or about his decisions.
You’re a liar.
He gritted his teeth. Everything with Elizabeth was its own exception. There was no point talking to anyone about it. No point getting into that terrible thing he had been a part of. The terrible thing he had caused.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I can cook,” she said as he turned to walk out of the stall.
“You don’t have to. I can grab something on my way.”
“No, I would rather we had dinner.”
He frowned. “Maddy,” he began, “this isn’t going to be a relationship. It can’t be.”
“I know,” she said, looking up and away from him, swallowing hard. “But I need for it to be something a little more than just sex too. I just... Look, obviously you know that somebody that hasn’t had a sexual partner in the past ten years has some baggage. I do. Shocking, I know, because I seem like a bastion of mental health. But I just don’t like the feeling. I really don’t.”
His chest tightened. Part of him was tempted to ask her exactly what had happened. Why she had been celibate for so long. But then, if they began to trade stories about their pasts, she might want to know something about his. And he wasn’t getting into that. Not now, not ever.
“Is there anything you don’t like?”
“No,” he said, “I’m easy. I thought you said you didn’t cook?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, if I’m being completely honest, I have a set of frozen meals in my freezer that my parents’ housekeeper makes for me. But I can heat up a double portion so we can eat together.”
He shook his head. “Okay.”
“I have pot roast, meat loaf and roast chicken.”
“I’ll tell you what. The only thing I want is to have your body for dessert. I’ll let you go ahead and plan dinner.”
“Pot roast it is,” she said, her voice a borderline squeak.
He chuckled, turning and walking away from her, something shifting in his chest. He didn’t know how she managed to do that. Make him feel heavier one moment, then lighter the next. It was dangerous. That’s what it was. And if he had a brain in his head, he would walk away from her and never look back.
Sadly, his ability to think with his brain had long since ceased to function.
Even if it was a stupid idea, and he was fairly certain it was, he was going to come to Madison’s house tonight, and he was going to have her in about every way he could think of.
He fixed his mouth into a grim line and set about finishing his work. But while he kept his face completely stoic, inside he felt anticipation for the first time in longer than he could remember.
Six
Maddy wondered if seductresses typically wore pearls. Probably pearls and nothing else. Maybe pearls and lace. Probably not high-waisted pencil skirts and cropped sweaters. But warming pot roast for Sam had put her in the mind-set of a 1950s housewife, and she had decided to go ahead and embrace the theme.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror in the hall of her little house and she laughed at herself. She was wearing red lipstick, her blond hair pulled back into a bun. She rolled her eyes, then stuck out her tongue. Then continued on into the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the tile.
At least underneath the sweater, she had on a piece of pretty hot lingerie, if she said so herself. She knew Sam was big on the idea that seduction couldn’t be planned, but Maddy did like to have a plan. It helped her feel more in control, and when it came to Sam, she had never felt more out of control.
She sighed, reaching up into the cupboard and taking out a bottle of wine that she had picked up at Grassroots Winery that afternoon. She might not be the best cook, or any kind of cook at all, but she knew how to pick a good wine. Everyone had their strengths.
The strange thing was she kind of enjoyed feeling out of control with Sam, but it also made her feel cautious. Protective. When she had met David, she had dived into the affair headlong. She hadn’t thought at all. She had led entirely with her heart, and in the end, she had gotten her heart broken. More than that, the aftermath had shattered her entire world. She had lost friends; she had lost her standing within a community that had become dear to her... Everything.
“But you aren’t seventeen. And Sam isn’t a married douche bag.” She spoke the words fiercely into the silence of the kitchen, buoyed by the reality of them.
She could lose a little bit of control with Sam. Even within that, there would be all of her years, her wisdom—such as it was—and her experience. She was never going to be the girl she had been. That was a good thing. She would never be able to be hurt like that, not again. She simply didn’t possess the emotional capacity.
She had emerged Teflon coated. Everything slid off now.
There was a knock on her front door and she straightened, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. That reminded her a bit too much of the past. Feeling all fluttery and breathless just because she was going to see the man she was fixated on. That felt a little too much like emotion.
No. It wasn’t emotion. It was just anticipation. She was old enough now to tell the difference between the two things.
She went quickly to the door, suddenly feeling a little bit ridiculous as she pulled it open. When it was too late for her to do anything about it. Her feeling of ridiculousness only increased when she saw Sam standing there, wearing his typical black cowboy hat, tight T-shirt and well-fitted jeans. Of course, he didn’t need to wear anything different to be hotter to her.
A cowboy hat would do it every time.
“Hi,” she said, taking a step back and gesturing with her hand. “Come in.”
He obliged, walking over the threshold and looking around the space. For some reason, she found herself looking at it through his eyes. Wondering what kinds of conclusions he would draw about the neat, spare environment.
She had lived out in the little guesthouse ever since she was nineteen. Needing a little bit of distance from her family but never exactly leaving. For the first time, that seemed a little bit weird to her. It had always just been her life. She worked on the ranch, so there didn’t seem to be any point in leaving it.
Now she tried to imagine explaining it to someone else—to Sam—and she wondered if it was weird.
“My mother’s interior decorator did the place,” she said. “Except for the yellow and red.” She had added little pops of color through throw pillows, vases and art on the wall. But otherwise the surroundings were predominantly white.
“Great,” he said, clearly not interested at all.
It had felt weird, thinking about him judging her based on the space, thinking about him judging her circumstances. But it was even weirder to see that he wasn’t even curious.
She supposed that was de rigueur for physical affairs. And that was what this was.
“Dinner is almost ready,” she said, reminding them both of the nonphysical part of the evening. Now she felt ridiculous for suggesting that too. But the idea of meeting him in s
ecret had reminded her way too much of David. Somehow, adding pot roast had seemed to make the whole thing aboveboard.
Pot roast was an extremely nonsalacious food.
“Great,” he said, looking very much like he didn’t actually care that much.
“I just have to get it out of the microwave.” She treated him to an exaggerated wink.
That earned her an uneasy laugh. “Great,” he said.
“Come on,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her. She moved into the kitchen, grabbed the pan that contained the meat and the vegetables out of the microwave and set it on the table, where the place settings were already laid out and the salad was already waiting.
“I promise I’m not trying to Stepford-wife you,” she said as they both took their seats.
“I didn’t think that,” he said, but his blank expression betrayed the fact that he was lying.
“You did,” she said. “You thought that I was trying to become your creepy robot wife.”
“No, but I did wonder exactly why dinner was so important.”
She looked down. It wasn’t as if David were a secret. In fact, the affair was basically open information. “Do you really want to know?”
Judging by the expression on his face, he didn’t. “There isn’t really a good way to answer that question.”
“True. Honesty is probably not the best policy. I’ll think you’re uninterested in me.”
“On the contrary, I’m very interested in you.”
“Being interested in my boobs is not the same thing.”
He laughed, taking a portion of pot roast out of the dish in the center of the table. “I’m going to eat. If you want to tell me...well, go ahead. But I don’t think you’re trying to ensnare me.”
“You don’t?”
“Honestly, Maddy, nobody would want me for that long.”
Those words were spoken with a bit of humor, but they made her sad. “I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure of any such thing. He was grumpy. And he wasn’t the most adept emotionally. Still, it didn’t seem like a very kind thing for a person to think about themselves.
“It is,” he said. “Chase is only with me because he’s stuck with me. He feels some kind of loyalty to our parents.”
“I thought your parents...”
“They’re dead,” he responded, his tone flat.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too.”
Silence fell between them after that, and she knew the only way to break it was to go ahead and get it out. “The first guy...the one ten years ago, we were having a physical-only affair. Except I didn’t know it.”
“Ouch,” Sam said.
“Very. I mean, trust me, there were plenty of signs. And even though he was outright lying to me about his intentions, if I had been a little bit older or more experienced, I would have known. It’s a terrible thing to find out you’re a cliché. I imagine you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
“No, not exactly. Artist-cowboy-blacksmith is not really a well-worn template.”
She laughed and took a sip of her wine. “No, I guess not.” Then she took another sip. She needed something to fortify her. Anything.
“But other woman that actually believes he’ll leave his wife for you, that is.” She swallowed hard, waiting for his face to change, waiting for him to call her a name, to get disgusted and walk out.
It occurred to her just then that that was why she was telling him all of this. Because she needed him to know. She needed him to know, and she needed to see what he would think. If he would still want her. Or if he would think that she was guilty beyond forgiving.
There were a lot of people who did.
But he didn’t say anything. And his face didn’t change. So they just sat in silence for a moment.
“When we got involved, he told me that he was done with her. That their marriage was a mess and they were already starting divorce proceedings. He said that he just wore his wedding ring to avoid awkward questions from their friends. The dressage community around here is pretty small, and he said that he and his wife were waiting until they could tell people themselves, personally, so that there were no rumors flying around.” She laughed, almost because she was unable to help it. It was so ridiculous. She wanted to go back and shake seventeen-year-old her. For being such an idiot. For caring so much.
“Anyway,” she continued, “he said he wanted to protect me. You know, because of how unkind people can be.”
“He was married,” Sam said.
She braced herself. “Yes,” she returned, unflinching.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“How old was he?”
“Almost forty.”
Sam cursed. “He should have been arrested.”
“Maybe,” she said, “except I did want him.”
She had loved the attention he had given her. Had loved feeling special. It had been more than lust. It had been neediness. For all the approval she hadn’t gotten in her life. Classic daddy issues, basically. But, as messed up as a man his age had to be for wanting to fool around with a teenager, the teenager had to be pretty screwed up too.
“How did you know him?”
“He was my... He was my trainer.”
“Right, so some jackass in a position of power. Very surprising.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest and spread outward, a strange, completely unfamiliar sensation. There were only a few people on earth who defended her when the subject came up. And mostly, they kept it from coming up. Sierra, her younger sister, knew about it only from the perspective of someone who had been younger at the time. Maddy had shared a little bit about it, about the breakup and how much it had messed with her, when Sierra was having difficulty in her own love life.
And then there were her brothers, Colton and Gage. Who would both have cheerfully killed David if they had ever been able to get their hands on him. But Sam was the first person she had ever told the whole story to. And he was the first person who wasn’t one of her siblings who had jumped to her defense immediately.
There had been no interrogation about what kinds of clothes she’d worn to her lessons. About how she had behaved. Part of her wanted to revel in it. Another part of her wanted to push back at it.
“Well, I wore those breeches around him. I know they made you act a little bit crazy. Maybe it was my fault.”
“Is this why you got mad about what I said earlier?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Well, that and it was mean.”
“I didn’t realize this had happened to you,” he said, his voice not exactly tender but full of a whole lot more sympathy than she had ever imagined getting from him. “I’m sorry.”
“The worst part was losing all my friends,” she said, looking up at him. “Everybody really liked him. He was their favorite instructor. As far as dressage instructors go, he was young and cool, trust me.”
“So you bore the brunt of it because he turned out to be human garbage and nobody wanted to face it?”
The way he phrased that, so matter-of-fact and real, made a bubble of humor well up inside her chest. “I guess so.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It really doesn’t.”
“So that’s why you had to feed me dinner, huh? So I didn’t remind you of that guy?”
“Well, you’re nothing like him. For starters, he was...much more diminutive.”
Sam laughed. “You make it sound like you had an affair with a leprechaun.”
“Jockeys aren’t brawny, Sam.”
He only laughed harder. “That’s true. I suppose that causes trouble with wind resistance and things.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are te
rrible. Obviously he had some appeal.” Though, she had a feeling it wasn’t entirely physical. Seeing as she had basically been seeking attention and approval and a thousand other things besides orgasms.
“Obviously. It was his breeches,” Sam said.
“A good-looking man in breeches is a thing.”
“I believe you.”
“But a good-looking man in Wranglers is better.” At least, that was her way of thinking right at the moment.
“Good to know.”
“But you can see. Why I don’t really want to advertise this. It has nothing to do with what you do or who you are or who I am. Well, I guess it is all to do with who I am. What people already think about me. I’ve been completely defined by a sex life I barely have. And that was... It was the smallest part of that betrayal. At least for me. I loved him. And he was just using me.”
“I hope his life was hell after.”
“No. His wife forgave him. He went on to compete in the Olympics. He won a silver medal.”
“That’s kind of a karmic letdown.”
“You’re telling me. Meanwhile, I’ve basically lived like a nun and continued giving riding lessons here on the family ranch. I didn’t go on to do any of the competing that I wanted to, because I couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a judge who was going to be angry with me for my involvement with David.”
“In my opinion,” Sam said, his expression turning dark, focused, “people are far too concerned with who women sleep with and not near enough as concerned as they should be about whether or not the man does it well. Was he good?”
She felt her face heat. “Not like you.”
“I don’t care who you had sex with, how many times or who he was. What I do care is that I am the best you’ve ever had. I’m going to aim to make sure that’s the case.”
He reached across the table, grabbing hold of her hand. “I’m ready for dessert,” he said.
