Maisey Yates – Smooth-Talking Cowboy (страница 20)

His heart was raging like he had just run a marathon, his whole body so on edge he had a feeling a strong breeze could push him over.

No. Only Olivia.

He gritted his teeth against that thought. That regrettably true thought.

There was no point wanting her. There never had been. She was Olivia Logan, of the Logans of Logan County. As close to royalty as you could find in rural Oregon.

He did not have an inferiority complex. That wasn’t the issue. He was sure on her end those would be on her list of issues. As far as his went... She wanted love. She wanted marriage. She had made that abundantly clear. She was twenty-five years old and he was thirty-six. He had a hunch that she was inexperienced, and he sure as hell was not.

He was wrong for her in a thousand different ways, and his damned body couldn’t seem to hold on to that reality.

No, he wasn’t going after her. He was going home. He was getting in a cold shower.

And then he was getting blind-ass drunk so that he could forget he had ever put his hands on Olivia Logan.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it again.

* * *

OLIVIA STUMBLED INTO the house on shaking legs. A great, gasping sob escaping as she shut the door behind her and locked it. She didn’t know if she was locking it against Luke, to keep him outside, or locking it to keep herself inside.

Apparently, she didn’t know anything. Not about herself, not about a man who had been in her life in some capacity for close to twenty years.

She hadn’t known she could want like that. She hadn’t known she wanted him like that.

But that word had played itself over and over in her mind. Finally. Finally. Finally.

She couldn’t scrub it out of her brain even now.

Even now, as she walked through the living room and dumped her purse and her sweater on the couch, unbearably conscious of the fact that her stomach felt nauseous and that she was wet between her legs.

She heard her phone vibrate and she scrambled to grab hold of it. She had three texts from her mother. Asking if she was home yet.

And then another one rolled in.

Why were you with Luke Hollister at Gold Valley Saloon tonight?

She threw her phone on the couch like it was a rabid varmint and took a step away from it, scrubbing her face with her hands. She couldn’t have this conversation. Not now. She couldn’t answer these questions she didn’t have an answer to.

There’s a very simple answer. It’s to get Bennett back.

She was a liar. Even her head was a liar. She certainly hadn’t made out with Luke in his truck to get Bennett back. She hadn’t...

She pressed a hand to her stomach. She had kissed him and had an orgasm.

She’d never had an orgasm before in her life.

She was a good girl. She had worked so hard to be a good girl. And to be everything that Vanessa wasn’t.

To justify her existence. To justify the fact that Olivia the tattletale had ruined Vanessa the rebel’s life. Hadn’t it been essential to be good after that? To show it was possible to live the kind of life their parents wanted them to have? That it led to better places?

Or she was a hypocrite. She had to keep everything locked down so tight. She couldn’t even let go of it in private.

But a few minutes in private with Luke, a few minutes in his arms, with his hands on her body, and she had let go of everything she had worked so hard for. Everything that she had trained herself to be.

Without thinking, she stumbled back toward the bathroom, flicking on the switch, flooding the room with light that was far too bright. Far too revealing of everything that had happened over the space of the last half hour. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen. Her eyes were bright and fevered.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that her neck burned, and she angled her head to the side, looking at her reflection, looking at the trail of red that ran down her skin.

Whisker burn, she realized.

Those whiskers that had been captivating her for all this time had left their mark, that was sure.

Who was she? She didn’t have an answer to that. Or at least, not one she liked.

She pulled her dress up over her head, whirling around and turning on the hot water knob in her shower. Then she wrestled with her bra, extricating herself clumsily before shoving her leggings and her underwear down her thighs.

She stepped beneath the spray of water before it was warm, shivering as it slowly grew hotter and hotter, sluicing over her bare shoulders.

She was determined to stand there until she felt normal again. Until she could no longer feel the impression of his lips on hers, his stubble against her neck, his hands on her hips.

She stood there until the water got cold again, and she could still feel his touch. She stood there until she was too miserable and exhausted to do anything but turn the water off, wrap herself in a towel and sit on the edge of her bed.

Slowly, she became aware of her body. Of the fact that her breasts still felt sensitive, of the fact that she felt achy and restless between her thighs still. That got her moving. Spurred her to dry herself off and get herself covered up in sensible, cozy pajamas.

She hoped that would make her feel more like herself.

But as she slipped beneath the covers and curled up into a tight ball, she still felt wrong. Still felt like somebody new. Somebody she didn’t want to be.

And she was afraid that good girl Olivia, the Olivia that was so essential, wasn’t someone she could simply get back to. Because she was afraid she had shattered that Olivia irrevocably in the cab of Luke Hollister’s truck.

As she finally drifted off to sleep, all she could think was that nothing was right. She didn’t know how it ever would be again.

CHAPTER NINE

WHEN OLIVIA WOKE up the next morning her phone was glowing on the couch. She had a raft of texts from her mother. And before she could bend down to pick the phone up, there was a knock at the door.

“Darn it,” she whispered, picking up the phone and holding it to her chest.

She walked to the front door, the white carpet plush beneath her feet. Usually a comfort in trying times, but nothing was comforting to her now.

“Coming,” she muttered as the knocking became more insistent. She had absolutely no illusions as to who it was.

She opened the door and came face-to-face with her mother.

Tamara Logan closely resembled Olivia, only older and more elegant. She was an inch or so shorter than her daughter, still as trim and petite as she had always been. There were fine lines next to her eyes, and not even one strand of gray in her brown hair. If that was accomplished by a hair salon, she would never say, and no one would be brave enough to ask.

“Thank God you’re here,” her mother said, breezing past her and walking into the room. She looked around her, as if she expected to see something out of place. Olivia had a feeling she was expecting, dreading, the possibility that she might find Luke Hollister in the house somewhere, enjoying a morning after.

“I’m alone,” Olivia said.

“Good,” Tamara answered, looking visibly relieved. “I can’t tell you how many texts and phone calls I got about you and Luke. Kissing.”

“I went on a date with him,” Olivia said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t even a very serious kiss.” The one in the bar that anyone had seen. She left out any mention of the kiss that had happened after.

She wasn’t even going to think about that kiss, much less talk to her mom about it. She suddenly felt like she was thirteen again and staring down her very disappointed mother after the skinny-dipping fiasco.

Whose fault was this, Olivia? I can hardly believe it was yours.

Olivia swallowed hard.

“I’m not sure he’s a very good man for you to be going on dates with,” her mom said, frowning. “And I thought you wanted to try and patch things up with Bennett. I’m sure that by now he’s regretting breaking up with you.”

“I broke up with Bennett,” Olivia said, realizing that she hadn’t exactly explained the whole story to her parents. “He didn’t break up with me.”

Shock flitted over her mother’s face. “But you were so devastated...”

“I know,” she said, shifting in place, feeling about two inches tall. “I just... I don’t want to be broken up with him. I didn’t want to be. But, you know, I wanted to get married and...”

“He didn’t?”

“Not as quickly as I did. I don’t know. I’m questioning my decision making now.” She was questioning a lot of things. And it was way too early in the morning for her to be trying to explain any of it to her mother, when she could hardly process what had happened the night before, much less what all had happened in the past month.

“I don’t like not knowing where you are,” her mom said. “I texted you so many times last night.”

“I came home early,” Olivia said, lying only a little bit, “and I went to sleep. Sorry.”

Her mother looked so genuinely concerned that Olivia felt guilty. It was one thing to feel indignant in the moment, like her leash was too short. It was another to fully face the reasons she consented to that leash.