Rodeo Christmas at Evergreen Ranch (Gold Valley #13)(81)

“You don’t have to repay me.”

“It’s not that. Sorry. I just said it wrong. It’s just...” She made her way from her seat, and took the chair right beside him. “I care about you.” She put her hand over his. “I would... I would do anything for you. I would.”

The earnestness shining from her eyes, the plate of cookies... He felt like she had reached into his chest and grabbed hold of his heart. Felt like she had... Done something to him. And he was reminded of that night when they had stood out under the trees. Before they’d made love the second time.

That night when he felt like the only way to get the pressure off his chest was to kiss her.

Hold her.

Make her scream his name.

Because at least if they shifted the feelings inside of his chest into something physical it might make some kind of sense.

And he couldn’t even bring himself to pick up a cookie.

He just couldn’t. He was frozen. Absolutely and completely frozen. And he didn’t know what in hell his next move was supposed to be.

So he kissed her. He kissed her because he wanted to. He kissed her because if he didn’t, the siren that was going off in his head was only going to get louder, that feeling that was expanding in his chest was only going to get more powerful. Except kissing her didn’t do anything to get rid of it. Kissing her only amped it up. Joined the physical in with the emotional, and it hadn’t been like that last time. He had been able to find a way to get caught up in her body and forget.

That was what he needed to do. Forget. Because it was the friendship that was being too intense right now. Her looking at him. As if she expected something.

And he had no idea what in hell to do with expectation.

With hope.

Because his own had been burned clean out of his soul. Because the feeling that was swelling in his chest was something he wasn’t equal to.

He couldn’t be. Not ever.

This was feeling. Pure feeling.

And he wanted to wipe it out. Eradicate it.

Sex.

Not anything else. He was a master at that. Sex without feelings. He knew it so well. And he could capture it now if he wanted to. He knew that he could. So he kissed her. He kissed her and he tried to block out who she was.

What this was.

He kissed her, and he tried to make himself feel nothing. Because hadn’t he spent years doing exactly that? Jumping on the backs of bulls, and feeling nothing. Picking up a new woman every night and feeling nothing.

Nothing but the blessed hollowness that was there to comfort him. So much better than an evening spent alone in silence where he remembered. What it was like to have a family. What it was like to be loved. What it was like to be happy.

And feel all those things in return.

Yeah, he tried to find that space. Tried to focus on her lips, on the softness of her mouth, the flavor of her. But there was nothing in this kiss that didn’t scream her name.

And her name could never be divorced of emotion. Ever. Her name always rang inside of him like a bell.

And adding a kiss didn’t do anything to fix it.

And he was at a loss to explain why that was.

Why he couldn’t just take charge of it.

“Jake...”

“No talking,” he said. “I don’t want to talk.” He grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her toward him, and he heard the collar of it rip, but he didn’t care. Didn’t give a damn.

“I’m filthy. I’ve been out working all damn day. And I need a shower.”

He grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it up over her head. Did his best to stop himself from looking at her face. He looked at her tits, because that was easy. They were beautiful, and they could be anybody’s breasts. It didn’t have to be Callie. He unhooked her bra, and threw it down, but it landed on the table.

“Shouldn’t we...?”

He picked her up, wrapped her legs around his waist, lowered his head to her breasts and sucked her nipple between his teeth. And he bit her. She cried out.

Yes, this he could do. He could act like she was just another buckle bunny. A plaything. And she could pleasure him. She liked to. So why not. It didn’t need to mean anything. Didn’t need to be anything special. That was the problem. He had stopped sleeping with her and turned it into some kind of holy grail of pleasure.

It was just sex.

He’d had lots of sex.

For Callie it was all new, and he let that get in his head. He let it mean something that it was brand-new to her, but it didn’t have to.

It didn’t have to be anything. Holding her in his arms, his hands under her ass, he walked them up the stairs, to the master bathroom. And then he set her down on the floor.

“Strip for me,” he said.

Hell, if she wanted to do something for him, she could do this.

She swallowed hard, visibly, and began to take her jeans off.

“That’s not really stripping,” he said. And then he pulled her toward him and did away with her jeans and panties himself.

It was methodical, almost mechanical, but that’s what he was on a mission to make it. This thing that he knew all the moves to. A practiced dance, not unlike the line dance that they’d done at the restaurant.

That was fine. It was more than fine. It was the dance they’d had after he didn’t want to think about it. It was that dance that he couldn’t risk again.