Texas Rose Forever (Texas Rose Ranch #1) (18 page)

“That’s different. You’re a girl—”

“So my theoretical violence is okay? I’ll have you know that I took two semesters of kickboxing in college. I have a mean right hook.” She smiled.

“So you don’t fight like a girl?” The shame was fading from his face.

“I wouldn’t go that far. There would still be lots of hair pulling and stupid slap fighting, but I’d get in a few jabs to the body first.” She continued to hold his hands. “You are a good person, and whoever Naomi drove you to become isn’t the real you. Don’t beat yourself up . . . for something that didn’t happen.”

He kissed the backs of her hands. “I like the way you see me.”

She’d never thought of things that way. “I like the way you see me too.”

CHAPTER 18

Early the next morning, Cinco—freshly showered, shaved, and clothed—quietly made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He was exhausted, but man, was he ever happy.

CanDee had finally opened up about Phillip, though he still hadn’t found out the man’s last name.

Last night, after they’d gotten home, she’d insisted that they take a bath together, which had led to some hot, soapy, bubbly fooling around. Sex had never been this good with anyone else.

He took the last stair, turned the corner, and found the kitchen full of light.

CanDee, wearing nothing but his red T-shirt from the night before, stood behind the stove and flipped a pancake. If he weren’t half in love with her already, this would have been the start.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” He inhaled the sweet perfume of fresh coffee as it ran in a steady stream from the maker into the pot.

“Don’t tell anyone, people might start asking me to cook.” She turned around.

She was wearing the rhinestone glasses she’d worn her first day here. “I like the glasses. How come you don’t wear them more often?”

“Usually I wear contacts, but I can’t find my bag this morning. I know I brought one over yesterday. Have you seen it?” She scooped up the pancake from the cast-iron pan and placed it on top of the pile that had been warming under a bowl. “Here.” She held the plate with the butter-covered pancake stack on it out to him.

“Thanks.” He took the plate and went to the table. “I unpacked your bag.”

She poured more batter into the sizzling hot pan. “I don’t understand. You took it back to the cottage and unpacked it?”

“No.” He picked up the maple syrup she’d put out on the table and poured a good bit over his pancakes. “Why would I unpack it at the cottage? I moved some of my stuff around and put your clothes in the top dresser drawer.”

She turned around and her mouth fell open.

“Now you have a place to store your things.” With his fork, he cut a triangular piece of pancake. “You’re welcome.”

“But . . . but . . . I didn’t ask you to do that.” She looked a little shell-shocked. “I don’t need drawer space. My clothes need to stay in my bag on the side of the bed that isn’t yours.”

“Too late. They’re already put away.” He slid the spoonful of pancake in his mouth and chewed. “These are pretty good.”

“But . . .” She turned back to the pancakes.

“I can repack your stuff, but then I’ll have an empty drawer. It just makes sense having your things in it.” He hacked off another chunk of pancake.

“Fine, but that’s it. I’m not bringing anything else over. The rest of my things are staying at the cottage.” She ground the spatula into the bottom of the pan and flipped the pancake over with a loud splat.

“If you say so. Personally, I think you should probably rotate your
clothes a little bit or maybe do your laundry here.” He slid in another bite.

“No thanks. I can manage there.” She pulled another plate down from the cabinet and practically slammed it against the counter.

What was wrong? Clearly, CanDee wasn’t a morning person.

“Okay, but doing your laundry in the kitchen sink sounds a little old fashioned while I have a perfectly good washer and dryer right over here.” He smiled to himself. He was beginning to see that she had a problem with moving in with him. Well, they’d just see about who won that argument.

“Crap.” She exhaled loudly as she scooped the pancake out and slapped it on the plate. “If it’s okay, I guess I can do my laundry here.”

She made it sound like she was doing him a favor.

“If you think that’s best. There’s plenty of hangers and space in the closet in my room in case you need to hang anything up to dry.” He’d moved a few things to the closet across the hall last night after she’d fallen asleep.

She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it.

“Thanks for making breakfast.” He sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

“Damn.” She practically ripped off the oven door opening it. “I have bacon in the oven.”

She pulled out a baking sheet with several slivers of black ash lined up across the top.

“Damn it. I don’t seem to be able to multitask when it comes to cooking.” She set the pan on top of the stove. “Sorry.”

“The pancakes are enough for me and they’re really good.” He pushed back from the table and went to the coffeepot. “You made coffee and pancakes. That counts as multitasking.”

He poured her a cup and then one for himself. She flipped another pancake onto the waiting plate.

“Why don’t you sit down and eat? I’ll finish the pancakes.” He took the spatula from her and handed her the cup of coffee. With his index finger, he pulled the collar of the T-shirt she was wearing and looked down. “You don’t have anything on under this.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth in mock surprise. “Oops.”

“Woman, you’re causing me to have some seriously impure thoughts.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Seriously impure.”

She ran her hand down his lower back and landed it squarely on his butt and squeezed. “To my way of thinking, you’re wearing way too many clothes.”

He flipped the last pancake onto the plate and turned off the heat. With his free hand, he handed her the plate. “You need to eat.”

“If you insist.” She dropped her hand, took the plate, and headed to the table.

He followed her and managed to sit down before she could pull out a chair. Gently, he pulled her onto his lap and settled her on his left knee. She put her plate on the table next to his. With his right hand, he picked up the syrup and doused her pancakes in sweet goodness. With his left hand, he inched up the hem of her T-shirt—
his
T-shirt—and drew light circles on the inside of her thigh with his thumb.

“What are you doing?” She jumped when he dipped a finger between her thighs.

“Multitasking.” He cut off a hunk of pancake, scooped it up with her fork, and brought the fork to her mouth. “Open for me.”

He dipped another finger inside her as she opened her mouth and he slid the forkful in. She chewed and swallowed as her hips found the rhythm of his hand. In nothing but his T-shirt, she was extraordinary. He cut off another piece and tried to lift the fork, but she stilled his hand. She took the fork from him, grabbed his hand, and guided it under the T-shirt to her left breast. He tweaked her nipple as her hands fell to her sides. She sat back against him with her head on his shoulder as her thighs opened.

Her hand cupped the front of his jeans.

“No, love, this is just for you,” he whispered close to her ear. He wanted her hot and liquid under his hands for no other reason than to capture this memory in his head for the hours today that he’d be away from her.

“Oh . . . faster.” She moaned as he increased the pressure and the pace.

Her hips bucked against his hand and then her muscles tightened around
him. She arched her back and then relaxed back against him.

Her breathing slowed to normal. “Nice.”

Her hand went to the front of his jeans again and she tried to unbuckle his belt.

Reluctantly he released her breast and tried to bat her hand away.

“I don’t have time.” He stood her up and made to get up himself, but she leaned down and kissed him hard, her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. Her hands undid his buckle, popped the button on his jeans, and ripped the zipper down. She straddled him and worked him with her hands.

“What are you doing?” He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her.

“Finishing breakfast.” She stroked him until he lost the battle for sanity.

He couldn’t wait for lunch.

CanDee put the last breakfast dish in the dish drainer to dry.

Cinco had put her things away. They were no longer in her overnight bag. How had she let that happen?

And then somehow, he’d bamboozled her into agreeing to bring her laundry over and wash it here. What if she left her clean laundry unattended and he put that away too?

Holy crap. She leaned against the kitchen counter. Somewhere along the way, she’d become the deadbeat in the relationship. She was sleeping in his bed, eating his food, and her clothes now resided in his drawer. Wait, no . . . not resided, they were merely hanging out in his drawer until she moved them out. See, she still had the ability to move them out. Nothing was set in stone . . . she was free to leave at any moment.

She sucked on her top lip. She kind of wanted to stay. His house was old and homey and she could feel the history around her everywhere. If she were ever to buy a home, it would be just like this . . . well, with more bathrooms and minus the pink paint.

That kind of felt like a slap to Edith’s face.

She glanced heavenward and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Crap, now she was talking to a dead woman . . . again.

Anxiety made the pancakes and syrup roll around in her stomach. Cinco hadn’t asked her for anything or made her feel anything but welcome, but staying here came with strings. Only he hadn’t put them there,
she had. Well, if she’d added the strings, she could cut them at anytime . . . but she kind of liked them. She liked the idea of something tying her to Cinco
. He understood her possibly better than she understood herself. He made her feel wanted and beautiful and safe. And he had a fantastic ass and shoulders and chest. Come to think of it, he had a really fine everything—inside and out. She and Cinco had so much in common.

She rolled her eyes. Phillip had also claimed to like the same books and music. They’d bonded over George R.R. Martin and debated Harry Potter versus the Lord of the Rings. Early in their relationship, Phillip had pretended to be on Team Harry but as the years droned on, his true J.R.R. Tolkien self came out.

Cinco had no motivation to lie to her. All he wanted from her was her. That was a new one. All he wanted was her.

What did it say about her that she was suspicious of a man who’d taken nothing from her, but only given?

It hit her. He was taking care of her instead of the other way around. It was nice to have someone else looking out for her. Maybe she would just let him for as long as he was willing, but she wouldn’t only take. He needed to be taken care of too. Breakfast had been a great start and lunch wasn’t a bad idea either.

She’d go into Roseville or maybe a little farther to Fredericksburg and hit the grocery store. It was her turn to provide dinner. God knew she was no cook, but she did have one dinner that she made reasonably well . . . meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a salad. Maybe she’d even pick up a brownie mix for dessert.

She started opening cabinets and taking stock of what he had and what she would need. Her phone was on the table, so she picked it up and texted Cinco asking if he needed anything from the grocery store. A few seconds later, a text came through telling her that there was a list on the fridge.

She tore it off the magnetic pad and set it and her phone on the table. The fact that she was going to the grocery store to buy food for the house that she sort of shared with her boyfriend-type person was a little much, but she wasn’t that anxious. Okay, she was anxious and her palms were beginning to sweat. Cinco had unpacked her bag. Right now, her things were tucked away in a drawer. She took a couple of deep cleansing breaths and wiped her hands on the T-shirt. This wasn’t a big deal. She could handle it. Cinco wasn’t Phillip and she should enjoy the time she had left on the ranch.

She made her way upstairs and into his bedroom. While she wasn’t entirely comfortable with her clothes nestled in his drawer, she was willing to give it a try.

It wasn’t forever, but she could handle it for right now.

She yawned and stretched. The clock on the bedside read five fifty-two. No one in their right mind was up this early. She yawned again. Stores wouldn’t be open for another few hours. She glanced at the bed. It was probably still warm.

She flipped off the overhead light, waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and felt her way around to the bed.

Cinco really needed a dog. This big old house was too lonely for just one person. She crawled back into the side of the bed that wasn’t Cinco’s. Maybe she’d bring it up to him over dinner. She yawned again. Yep, this place needed a dog or two.