Fuck. I probably took that too far. But what the hell was I supposed to say with her sitting right there in my truck smelling the way she does, so fucking intoxicating, and dressed in those barely-there booty shorts that make me hard just looking at her.

It was hard enough shopping today without getting so hard I’d draw stares from every mile around. I had to keep avoiding her in the hardware store and again at the grocery, because the way her sexy, tight little ass played peekaboo in those jean shorts made me think about how tight she’d be if I bent her over the backseat of my truck and thrust my thick dick inside her wet little pussy…

Fuck. There I go again.

Dammit, Sasha. She drives me insane. No matter how much I try not to think about her, I can’t stop.

Probably because she’s always right there in front of me, wearing some sexy, skimpy little shorts, bending over and flashing that pert, perfect ass of hers, or pouting in that way she has when she’s debating which tile she wants to lay where…

Damn. Here I go again.

I clench my fists. I’ll jerk one out in the shower later—the same way I’ve been aching to ever since I caught her peering through the shower door at me, trying to catch a glimpse of my dick. Seems like she caught a peek of more than she bargained for, to judge by the way she ran inside after I called her out in the truck.

Well, good. She should run. I’m more than she can handle. In more ways than one. Size-wise, country-man-wise, hell, just every way. She’s not ready for a wild man. She likes tame, placid little city boys.

She should run back to those boys before she winds up getting hurt. Before I wind up hurting her. Because I would. A city girl like her, god, the things I could do to her… She’d be in way over her head, and she’d lose her head, and then where would she be left? Pining for a country man who she never wants to see again, because just like this whole town, Sasha Bluebell has always been too damn good for me.

I shake my head and finish hauling the last load of groceries and hardware supplies inside. Out back, through the little window over the kitchen sink, I spot Sasha out by the shed. She’s abandoned the roofing for now, probably because I still have all the nails she needs in here, and she’s clearly not ready to be in the same room as me for a while, let alone talk to me.

But she’s still working, I’ll give her that. City Girl has some backbone after all. Not to mention some work ethic.

For a moment I hesitate at the sink, just watching her reach up to yank down the stray vines growing in and between the rose bushes. She’s cutting back some of the roses too, but in a careful way, shows she knows what she’s doing. I’m surprised. I didn’t think that girl had any of her Mama in her—only her runaway Daddy. But watching her now, I can see the Maryanne my Pops was best friends with. The woman who owned and ran this whole farm by herself, without asking anyone for help. Even when Pops bailed her out of the hole she wound up in after a few too many crop blights, Maryanne was proud. She swore she’d buy the other half of the farm back off him one day.

She’d have done it too, I have no doubt, if the cancer didn’t get her first. Scary how diseases like that creep up on you. One minute she’s hale as an ox, and scary as one to boot. Ready to take on Pops, me, hell, half the town if she had a mind to. Everyone hereabouts loved her—it’s part of the reason people blamed her daughter so much for running off and leaving her alone. But you catch Maryanne letting anyone in this town say one bad word about her baby Sasha in earshot, and you’d have had yourself a real fireworks display. Maryanne didn’t stand for any of that. She was proud of her daughter.

My chest aches watching Sasha now. I shake my head and ignore it.

Sasha isn’t her mama. That much is clear from her attitude, her city-slicker outfits, her fancy car, those ridiculous damn high heels she wore yesterday. At least she abandoned those today, thank Christ.

But Sasha is getting more and more interesting to me nevertheless. Not least because just now, as I’m watching over the kitchen sink, she yanks a whole branch of crawling vine free and bends over to stuff it into the garbage bag she’s working with.

Which provides me with a picture-perfect view of that ass, the bottoms of her cheeks peeking out the bottoms of her short, short little jeans.

Fuck.

I can feel my cock digging into the kitchen cabinets, I’m so hard.

Unable to resist, I slide a hand down to my zipper.

I shouldn’t. Especially not here. But Sasha is busy with her work. She tosses her head, long blonde curls flying, and fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have those curls wrapped around my fist. To pull them tight and watch her neck arch, her perfect cupid’s bow lips parting with a loud cry as I buried my cock inside her tight pussy.

I unzip my fucking jeans.

She keeps working, oblivious to the man in the kitchen.

But it’s only fair, I think. She peeped on me in the shower. She stood there for at least a minute while I rinsed off the soap, keeping my cock in her view all the while because I knew what she came for, and to be honest, it turned me on to see her watching. But she started this.

Besides, she’s not even naked right now.

Fuck, imagine her naked.

My cock is so hard that by the time I pull it out of my boxers, it’s practically jumping in my fist. I wrap my fist around the base and start to pump along my shaft, slowly, imagining taking Sasha by the hips right now. Pushing her down onto her hands and knees in the dirt where she’s working. Bending her over that bag she’s stuffing with leaves and weeds. Yanking those ridiculous excuses for shorts down until they puddled around her knees. Pushing aside whatever skimpy underwear she has on and positioning my big, thick cock right at the entrance to her soaking wet pussy.

I’d make her beg first. Oh, yes. I’d make her scream for me. Tell me how much she wants me. Beg me to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

Only then would I finally push the tip of my thick cock between her lips. Slide inch by inch into her pussy, and enjoy the way she moaned and groaned as her tight walls expanded to take me.

I stroke myself faster, faster. It’s almost embarrassing how fast I near the edge, how I have to back off and move my hand slower for a while, think about running my hands over her ass and digging one hand into that luscious long hair, in order to stave off the peak from hitting too soon.

Finally, though, I can’t hold it off any longer. I grab a wad of paper towels from the sink and come into them with a groan, teeth gritted, eyes still fixed on the window, on Sasha.

She’s working away, completely oblivious. She has no idea the kind of effect she has on men.

On me.

I shake my head and sigh. I’d have thought that would satiate me somewhat. But I only feel more riled up than ever now. I want that girl something fierce. But damned if I’m going to take her. Not with all this mess going on.

Don’t mix business and pleasure, I remind myself as I finish cleaning up and toss away the evidence. I cast one last glance at the window before I go to behave. To finish my chores for the day and head back out to sleep in the bed of my truck for another night.

But that’s when I freeze.

Because this time when I look outside, Sasha isn’t working.

She’s turned sideways. For a moment I think she must have lost something. She’s bent double, hands on her head.

Then she sags forward, onto her knees, and I fling myself at the door. Something’s wrong.

I sprint out back, door crashing behind me. I’m already on the lawn by the time she drops to all fours.

“Sasha!”

She doesn’t respond. From the way she’s bent though, head almost touching the dirt, it can’t be good.

I reach her side in a few seconds, and breathe a sigh of relief when she turns her head, at least far enough to study my shoes.

“I…” She shakes her head, probably smearing dirt across her forehead, since it’s still pressed against the ground.

“Come here.” I bend and scoop her up easily, all in one motion. Christ, the girl weighs almost nothing. When was the last time she had a decent meal?

Now I sound like a damn grandmother. What is this woman doing to me?

“What happened?” I ask, cradling her against my chest. “Look at me, Sasha.”

Her head is swaying, and when she does look up, her eyes are unfocused, sliding across my face before she zeroes in on my eyes and blinks.

“I… don’t know…”

“Do you feel dizzy? Lightheaded? Describe the symptoms to me.”

“I… Yeah, dizzy,” she admits.

I’m already striding toward the house, carrying her as fast as my legs will move. “Have you eaten something today? Drank any water?”

“Um…” She bites her lip. “Breakfast. And…”

“When was the last time you had water?” I prompt.

“I… don’t know.”

I heave a sigh. “You need to stay hydrated if you’re going to spend all day out in the sun playing at farmhand, City Girl.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips at that nickname. Good. Smiling is good. Understanding jokes is good. “My bad. Forgot… We don’t have… Water in the city.”

I laugh at that even as I shoulder our way through the back door.

When we get inside the house, she swings her legs a little. “I can stand…”

“No way.” I breeze right through the kitchen, bypassing the living room, which only has a couple of armchairs, not anything you can really lie down on. I carry her straight into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed, taking care not to jostle her too much on the way down.

“Really, I’m fine,” she protests as soon as I’ve got her lying flat. She tries to sit up but I can tell from the way that her eyes slide in and out of focus that she’s bullshitting me.

“You’re not fine.” I catch her shoulders and gently press her back down onto the bed. “Promise me you won’t try to sit up while I get you water.”

She heaves a sigh but catches my eye, and something in my look must tell her I’m serious. “I promise,” she accedes.

Only then do I slip out of the room to go and fill her a huge glass of water. When I get back, my shoulders relax a little, seeing that she’s still awake, alert, and not trying to sit up or push me on this anymore. I sit on the edge of the bed and slide a hand between her shoulder blades—ignoring the pang that this intimate contact sends straight to my groin. It’s not the time.

I hold her upright, just far enough to drink. She takes a huge gulp at first, but I pull the cup away from her lip. “Small sips,” I say. “At least until the first wave of dizziness passes.”

She takes a couple of sips, then I help her lie back down and set the glass on the nightstand. Sasha heaves another sigh, this one the type of sigh I recognize. She’s frustrated.

“I was trying to help,” she says, her voice small, annoyed with herself. “I can work, you know. I’m not some completely spoiled brat.”

“I know that.” I’m standing again, because I don’t trust myself lingering here next to her for too long. If I hang around and watch her lying across this bed, it won’t be long before I start picturing other ways the two of us could sprawl across it. And that will only lead to trouble.

Trouble for her.

And probably for me too, since then I’ll have fucked my business partner.

“You need to be careful,” I tell her. “Take care of yourself. Don’t push too hard. Even if you can work, your body isn’t used to this pace.”

She nods a little, mouth pursed.

I glance past her at the window. “Catch some rest,” I tell her. “It’s getting late anyway. I’ll finish the roof, then make us some dinner. Sound good?”

She bites her lip. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know,” I reply. I’m out of the room before she can say anything else.

I don’t have to. Doesn’t mean I won’t, at least when she’s like this.

City Girl is in way over her head here.