Stella

By day three of waiting for Dane and Levi to return from “fixin’ fencin’” or feeding the stock or whatever it is they do to get filthy and sweaty, I’m ready for a change of pace––or to start consuming large quantities of liquor. Either will do.

I wasn’t cut out to sit around, twiddling my thumbs. I’ve made good use of Dane’s laptop. However, as far away from the office as I am, there’s only so much work I can get done. Ira’s been incredibly understanding as usual. Even Missy is getting tired of my visits.

Mr. Wylder, relegated to porch ornament status because of the heart attack, is getting antsy too. Both of us being workaholics, we’ve found comfort in that shared misery.

It’s six by the time we watch the two men approaching. Dane’s shirt is hanging open and sweat covers his bare chest…and he’s wearing a straw cowboy hat.

With that loose-limbed walk, eyes hidden under the hat, he reminds me of a stripper. The good kind. Not the kind that Tina had at her bachelorette party. I could barely watch those guys. Apologies, but having a stranger gyrate his sweaty balls in my face while wearing a teal-colored satin thong is not my idea of sexy. This guy however…this one I watch with bated breath.

Do I focus on admiring his glistening chest, or the ab muscles that look carved with a chisel, or maybe the strip of hair peeking out over his low-slung jeans? So much to choose from.

The temperature of my body rises the closer he gets. I brush the bead of sweat off my forehead with the back of my wrist like I’m starring in my own private ranch version of Gone With The Wind.

I’m about to spontaneously combust and the man isn’t even standing within reach. What would happen if he actually touched me? At this rate, I’d probably drop dead.

This can’t be happening. Not with this man. Not when I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to avoid this trap. My mind keeps screaming, Forbidden! Forbidden! Back away from the beefcake! while the rest of me strongly disagrees.

We need space––lots of it. “Anybody feel like going out tonight?” I have no clue where that came from but suddenly determine it’s a brilliant idea.

“Yeah, sure,” Levi answers while Dane says, “Hell no.”

I’m relieved to hear Dane say no. That part of me that’s getting hot and bothered over him is growing bolder, more demanding every minute I spend in his presence.

“You don’t mind taking me along with you, Levi?”

Levi’s smile is immediate and a tad overenthused. “Taking out a pretty lady? No, I definitely do not mind.”

Frowning at Levi, Dane scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? In your condition?”

“My condition? Last time I checked pregnancy wasn’t contagious. And if I don’t get out I’m going to go stir crazy. Your dad goes to sleep early and you’re always working out––”

Every day since he’s moved into my room, a strange new routine has begun. He works all day, takes a shower, and we eat dinner. Then, when I’m getting ready for bed, he goes to the home gym and works out.

Sometime around midnight, I hear him come in while I pretend to be asleep. I’m a notoriously light sleeper; no way am I not noticing a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound giant creeping into my bed, no matter how big the bed is.

At first he stays mostly on his side. Then, little by little, he creeps closer and closer until his body is curved around mine, barely any air between us, while I continue to pretend to be asleep.

The funny thing is, he actually believes I can sleep through the bed dipping, the scorching heat emanating from his body burning my back, his dick––which is always hard–– brushing against my ass.

He thinks I’m sleeping through that? He could wake me from life support with that.

Ten minutes later, he’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. Strangely, soon afterward, I fall asleep as well. Every morning, however, I wake up to an empty bed and we both pretend it never happened.

“I don’t get it. Don’t you do enough physical labor during the day to tire you out?” I ask in bewilderment.

Dane’s face does something weird, something I can’t decipher. Levi snickers. Which makes me suspicious. As if they’re sharing a private joke at my expense.

“I need to clean up. Stella, how about we leave in an hour?”

“Sounds great. Thanks, Levi.”

With that, he walks inside, leaving us standing on the porch, staring at each other, a scowl still hanging on Dane’s face.

“You’re not going.”

I must not have heard him correctly. He couldn’t possibly have given me orders. “Would you like to use the shower first?” I ask as I turn and walk back into the house.

“Did you hear what I said?” he practically shouts.

My blood starts to sizzle. “I’m going to do you a kindness and pretend I didn’t.”

He’s fast on my heels as I walk into the bedroom we now share. The bedroom door slams shut. I continue on to the bathroom, stop and turn, gearing up for the argument I know is coming.

A wall of golden flesh manifests inches from my face…No shirt. What in the world happened to his shirt in the time we walked in here? Arms crossed, he’s wearing a mulish expression, which makes perfect sense because he’s acting like an ass.

I take a step back, into the bathroom, and his hand shoots out to stop the door from closing. Everything about him says he’s spoiling for a fight. Time to deflect.

“No ink, huh?” I casually ask.

“Nope.” He leans a muscular arm against the doorframe.

If that’s not an invitation for me to roll my eyes, I don’t know what is. “I thought all you guys had some these days.”

“First off, darlin’, you don’t desecrate a work of art with graffiti.” The idiocy of that statement makes me bite my bottom lip, curbing a bark of laughter. “And second, who’s you guys?”

“Never mind,” I mutter, leaving him to turn the shower on. “Can you get out? I need to get ready.”

Silence, so much of it I glance behind me to see if he’s gone. Nope.

“Do you want to jeopardize this pregnancy?”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic!”

“Sure you’re not.” Heavy sarcasm. This performance is starting to rival Elizabeth Berkley’s in Showgirls.

I walk over to him and push his chest, his bare chest. The one that feels like solid rock under my hand. Except rock isn’t warm and doesn’t flex under my touch. Rock doesn’t make my mouth water and my stomach churn. Rock doesn’t make me want to get on my knees…naked.

A warm puff of air hits my scalp. I push against his chest and Dane exhales harshly, stepping back. Before he can get another word in, I shut the door, my heart pounding viciously.

We need space. And I need a cold shower…that’s the ticket––nothing a cold shower can’t remedy.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in jeans and a black, long-sleeve silk top, the one that’s a bit tighter than usual because of my growing breast size. And the heels. Let’s not forget the heels.

Somehow I’ve managed to tame my hair into soft waves; a serious accomplishment in my book. Tonight, for the first time in ages, I care what I look like.

My appearance hasn’t been a priority for a long time. Working in an environment where the majority of my colleagues are men, it would’ve been either stupid, or naive for me to pretend that how I presented myself would go unnoticed.

In the beginning, I heard the sexist remarks. I saw the leers. I had other battles to fight, however. One of poverty, the massive student loans I had to pay back, proving my worth to the company. So I chose to hide behind my shapeless suits. Regardless, it was always my choice.

I step into the living room and get three very different reactions. Levi grins wickedly. Bill smiles affectionately. Face puckered, Dane grimaces like I’ve kicked him in the nuts.

“You’re not going out like that,” he says, game face on.

I’m not prone to bursts of anger. You would think being half Cuban and half Irish would make me hot-tempered and yet I’m not. Not even a little.

In my opinion, that’s a bunch of baloney. There’s hot and cool in every culture. And what little of it I may have had was easily snuffed out when I started working at Goldman Sachs. If there is one thing you must learn as a trader, it’s to control your emotions.

All the training in the world could not have prepared me for this however. I take a deep breath. Otherwise I may throw something at him.

“Yes, I am,” I say as gently as possible. This caveman routine is getting tiresome. I don’t care what lie he’s trying to sell to his father, I won’t put up with this.

My gaze does a cursory assessment of his wrinkled gray t-shirt and his threadbare jeans. “I guess you’re not coming. Levi, are you ready?”

“As my woman, you should respect my wishes.”

A miniature nuclear explosion goes off in my head. My fury is immediate. His woman? Does he have heatstroke from working outdoors all day?

I steal a brief glance at Bill and find him dusting off his jeans. My suspicion is there’s no dust on his jeans.

“I’ll give you exactly one minute to walk that back,” I tell him quietly.

Dane’s eyes narrow on me. Abruptly, he gets off the couch, stalks to the closet, and retrieves a Gladiator ball cap.

“Fine. I’m coming with you.” He stuffs the cap on his head, the flat brim just above his eyes.

Oh the joy.

“Suit yourself,” I retort and walk to the door, Levi leading the way.

Ten minutes later we’re cruising down a highway, Levi in the driver’s seat and the knuckle dragger in the back, arms crossed in protest of being consigned there.

“Where are we going?” I ask Levi.

“A place called Rowdy’s. They have dancin’ and live music.”

“Absolutely not. We’re not going to Rowdy’s,” someone in the back interrupts.

“Sounds perfect. Rowdy’s it is,” I say, practically giddy at the prospect of a night of fun.

After that, I turn up the music and Levi begins singing. His voice is sexy and soulful, raspy and edged with sadness that resonates in my bones. A pretty face aside, that voice will break a million hearts one day. I’m sure of it.

The parking lot at Rowdy’s is jam-packed, the painted mural of a cowboy riding a bull on the front of the building, one that looks like it was at one time a turn-of-the-century factory, pulsates with energy. A neon sign throws hot-pink light on everything within its reach. I’m so excited I’m dancing in my seat.

The minute Dane gets out of the truck he places his hand on my lower back. The steady pressure grounds me. The warmth ripples up my spine and makes my hair stand on end.

I look up to find heavy-lidded eyes watching me. His expression stoic at first. But then a small smile tips up one corner of his sensual lips and those green-gold eyes might as well be shouting volumes without saying a thing.

“You two ready, or are we gonna stand around making eyes at each other all night?”

Dane levels Levi with a disapproving look and we all head for the door. Inside I can barely hear myself think over the roar of the crowd and the live music.

“I knew this was gonna be a shitfest,” I hear the man pinned to my side grumble. He throws a protective arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. You would think that every person that walks by us poses grave and immediate danger with the way he’s behaving.

Levi points to a booth at the edge of the room. “That’s the one reserved for us.”

We make our way to the table, Dane draped all over me. He may as well be riding piggyback.

At the booth next to ours, three cowboys around Levi’s age laugh and carry on. It looks like they’ve been partying for a while. Beer bottles and shot glasses litter their table. One of them catches my eye and, smiling, tips his hat at me.

“Who are you smiling at?”

Dane doesn’t wait for me to answer. His gaze slides over to the three men. The one watching me continues to smile. Dane’s arm falls heavy across my shoulders while he shoots the poor idiot smiling a nasty glare.

“Wanna dance?” Levi asks.

“No, she doesn’t,” the Neanderthal sitting next to me answers. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his shenanigans.

“I don’t know how to dance like that,” I confess, scanning the dance floor. Couples move around in some sort of country western-style dancing to a really good cover of a .

“I’ll teach you.”

I push aside the same tired voice I’ve been hearing all of my life that tells me I’m going to make a fool of myself. I don’t have to be perfect. Not tonight. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t know what fun is. It’s high time I fix that.

“Okay, let me go to the ladies room first.”

On the other side of the room, a trendy vintage neon sign points me in the right direction. Once I get there I do my business, apply more lip gloss, and gleefully get ready to make a fool of myself on the dance floor. All goes well.

The problem presents itself as soon as I step out of the ladies room. Where I find Mr. Urban Cowboy from the booth next to ours leaning up against the wall, thumbs hooked into his tooled belt, wearing a decidedly sly grin.

“Hi.”

“Hiya,” I reply, suddenly uneasy.

“Is that your boyfriend?” No beating around the bush with this one.

“No,” I answer honestly.

“Didn’t think so.” Urban Cowboy smiles wider.

“Hey,” comes a firm shout from afar. An angry giant looms large down the crowded, narrow hallway. People give him a wide berth as Dane quickly closes the distance between us. Suddenly alert, Urban Cowboy drops the lazy charmer act and pushes off the wall.

“Fuck off,” is directed at the cowboy, who is easily two inches and fifty pounds smaller. Dane’s voice is low and angry, marked with the promise of violence. Even I get goose bumps and I’m in no danger.

Urban Cowboy hesitates for a beat before deciding that I’m more trouble than I’m worth. He slinks away quietly, after a shrug aimed at me. Probably for the best.

“What is your problem? Seriously? Are you feeling faint? Is it heatstroke? Because that would be a legitimate reason for the crap you’ve been pulling since we walked in. Otherwise you’re just being a jerk.” I storm past him, in a hurry to get back to Levi and take him up on his offer.

“Some strange dude’s mushroom head is not gonna be poking my son. If anybody is gettin’ that honor, it’ll be me.”

My feet stop so suddenly I almost topple over.

Mushroom head? The man has lost his ever-loving mind. And in public no less. I turn and take a moment to collect myself, to put a lid on the unusual flare of temper he’s managed to elicit in me. I thought that was impossible and yet here I stand, blood boiling.

“I have no idea where this hostility is coming from. But I suggest that you go home and sleep it off.”

“You want sex. I’m happy to help you out.”

Help me out? As in a pity fuck? I gave him a chance, drew the line in the sand, and told him nicely not to cross it and he trampled it––along with my feelings. Now the gloves are off.

“You think I need your charity? I’m not your type, remember? Any one of those three guys at the next table would be happy to help me out.”

“Over my dead body,” he mutters, stepping past me and effectively cutting off any chance I have of escape.

“That can be arranged,” I grind out as I jerk to the left. He blocks me. “Get out of my way, Dane.”

His expression switches from frustration to pain to irritation so quickly I can hardly keep up. He’s struggling with something and I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is.

“Stell…I…” He takes off his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair, biting on his lower lip. “Let me take you home.”

“Jesus Christ, I came to have a little bit of fun! This is going to sound like a foreign concept to you, but I haven’t had much of it in my life. Can you allow me just a little fun? I don’t think I’m asking for much.”

Shoulders sagging, he finally steps aside. I pass without a backward glance. Common sense tells me this isn’t the end of it.