five-thirty in the morning? Why couldn’t everything wait until a reasonable hour, like nine -thirty? I lifted the pillow and blinked through the thick sleep-haze blurring my vision.
That wasn’t thumping. It was knocking. Someone was knocking on the door. At this hour. I was going to have to get up.
Well, dammit.
I rolled out of bed, stomped to the door, and ripped it open.
“Good morning, darlin’.” Clay strolled in carrying a paper bag and thermos.
Good morning? It was definitely not a good morning. At least, not yet. After I’d had some coffee, and a few more hours of sleep, I might be singing a different tune.
“Clay, what are you doing here so early? And where are you going?” I grumbled as I tracked his progress with heavy-lidded eyes.
“To the kitchen,” he answered with an audible eyeroll, as if I’d asked a stupid question. As he passed me, he gave me an up-and-down look. “Did I wake you, princess?”
“No,” I lied as I barefooted after him. “You did not wake me.”
“Good.” He dropped the bag on the table and twisted open the thermos. “Breakfast?” he asked my chest.
Why was he talking to my…? I looked down.
Nipples.
Bastard.
I crossed my arms to hide the pointy peaks. It was a little chilly. Did he have to be such a worm? Staring? Really? “Are you asking me or my tits ? Because my tits don’t drink coffee.”
“Hmm. You’re right. I haven’t met a tit yet that drank.” He sat and poured some steaming coffee into the thermos top and offered it to me. “I’m asking you . You look like you could use some caffeine. Not used to the early hours, yet?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He motioned toward the bedroom. “Tell you what, why don’t you get some more sleep? I’m sure you need it after everything that happened yesterday. And I’ll get to work,” he suggested with a smile that said something else entirely.
The jerk. He was actually trying to say I was too weak, too girly, to run the ranch.
I would show him.
“No way. I know what you’re doing.” I shook my finger in his face. “Acting all sweet, coming to my rescue. I know you better than that. I know everything you do has a string attached. That cup of coffee, what would that cost me?”
He shrugged. “A kiss? Maybe an accidental touch of your tit?”
“What is it with you and my boobs?” My blood turned to steam. “Asshole!” I grabbed his stupid thermos and bag of whatever and shoved them at his chest. “Get out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he asked. “I bought cream-filled. Your favorite.”
“You mean, your favorite,” I shot back, venom darkening my voice. Then I realized the terrible mistake I’d made.
Our gazes tangled.
His cocky grin widened.
“You got that right. I love cream .” He licked his lips.
What a sick bastard.
I wanted to smack that smug look right off his ridiculously gorgeous face. But I didn’t. Because I knew that was exactly what he wanted. He loved to push my buttons. I was not going to give him the satisfaction.
I stabbed a finger at the door. “Out.”
“Sure, anything you say, boss.”
“Yes, that’s better. Boss. I am your boss. Remember that. I sign your paychecks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He moseyed out the door. The ancient wooden screen door slammed shut behind his ass with a satisfying smack .
My stomach rumbled.
Shit. I had nothing to eat but pickles. And no car. But there was no way I could accept one of Clay’s cream-filled pastries. Or any of that delish-smelling coffee. No matter how much I needed caffeine.
Which I did. Desperately.
I dragged my still groggy self back to the bedroom and eyed the rumpled bed with regret. How I wanted to dive back in that soft, comfy bed and go back to sleep! I wanted that almost more than
That wasn’t thumping. It was knocking. Someone was knocking on the door. At this hour. I was going to have to get up.
Well, dammit.
I rolled out of bed, stomped to the door, and ripped it open.
“Good morning, darlin’.” Clay strolled in carrying a paper bag and thermos.
Good morning? It was definitely not a good morning. At least, not yet. After I’d had some coffee, and a few more hours of sleep, I might be singing a different tune.
“Clay, what are you doing here so early? And where are you going?” I grumbled as I tracked his progress with heavy-lidded eyes.
“To the kitchen,” he answered with an audible eyeroll, as if I’d asked a stupid question. As he passed me, he gave me an up-and-down look. “Did I wake you, princess?”
“No,” I lied as I barefooted after him. “You did not wake me.”
“Good.” He dropped the bag on the table and twisted open the thermos. “Breakfast?” he asked my chest.
Why was he talking to my…? I looked down.
Nipples.
Bastard.
I crossed my arms to hide the pointy peaks. It was a little chilly. Did he have to be such a worm? Staring? Really? “Are you asking me or my tits ? Because my tits don’t drink coffee.”
“Hmm. You’re right. I haven’t met a tit yet that drank.” He sat and poured some steaming coffee into the thermos top and offered it to me. “I’m asking you . You look like you could use some caffeine. Not used to the early hours, yet?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He motioned toward the bedroom. “Tell you what, why don’t you get some more sleep? I’m sure you need it after everything that happened yesterday. And I’ll get to work,” he suggested with a smile that said something else entirely.
The jerk. He was actually trying to say I was too weak, too girly, to run the ranch.
I would show him.
“No way. I know what you’re doing.” I shook my finger in his face. “Acting all sweet, coming to my rescue. I know you better than that. I know everything you do has a string attached. That cup of coffee, what would that cost me?”
He shrugged. “A kiss? Maybe an accidental touch of your tit?”
“What is it with you and my boobs?” My blood turned to steam. “Asshole!” I grabbed his stupid thermos and bag of whatever and shoved them at his chest. “Get out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a pastry?” he asked. “I bought cream-filled. Your favorite.”
“You mean, your favorite,” I shot back, venom darkening my voice. Then I realized the terrible mistake I’d made.
Our gazes tangled.
His cocky grin widened.
“You got that right. I love cream .” He licked his lips.
What a sick bastard.
I wanted to smack that smug look right off his ridiculously gorgeous face. But I didn’t. Because I knew that was exactly what he wanted. He loved to push my buttons. I was not going to give him the satisfaction.
I stabbed a finger at the door. “Out.”
“Sure, anything you say, boss.”
“Yes, that’s better. Boss. I am your boss. Remember that. I sign your paychecks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He moseyed out the door. The ancient wooden screen door slammed shut behind his ass with a satisfying smack .
My stomach rumbled.
Shit. I had nothing to eat but pickles. And no car. But there was no way I could accept one of Clay’s cream-filled pastries. Or any of that delish-smelling coffee. No matter how much I needed caffeine.
Which I did. Desperately.
I dragged my still groggy self back to the bedroom and eyed the rumpled bed with regret. How I wanted to dive back in that soft, comfy bed and go back to sleep! I wanted that almost more than
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