Enamored Page 5

  “Have you thought about keeping it all-inclusive, but offering three-night stays and seven-night stays? The new cabins could be used for the three-night stays, and the cabin could still be split into thirds. People that want the three-night experience get smaller sleeping quarters, but they get the benefit of everything the ranch has to offer.”

  I tilt my head side to side, contemplating her idea. What she says holds some weight. “I suppose something like that could work. I would keep the price point per night a bit higher to make sure we can cover the cost of food and employees.”

  She smiles and looks down at her sketchbook again. She continues to show me her plans, and I love everything about them. It’s like she tapped into my brain and knows exactly what I want. But if I tell her it’s perfect, she’s going to return to Boston. I’m not ready for that to happen yet, so I pretend to hate specific elements of them—pointing out flaws in the designs or not liking how the rooms are set up.

  I stand and stretch my arms above my head in an exaggerated attempt to get her attention. I glance down at her and see her eyes are glued to the small amount of skin exposed where my shirt lifted. I stifle a smile and clear my throat. Her eyes dart to mine. “Work on it some more. We will discuss it tomorrow on our hike.”

  She sighs and rubs her forehead in frustration. “I don’t have anything for a hike, Tristan. I’m not here for a vacation. I’m here to work. Let’s meet again at lunchtime tomorrow, and I will have some new sketches ready for you.”

  I know she’s right. My thought was, I could bring her to the same spot we kissed the last time we hiked. Remind her of how well we fit together. Hell, even the two times we’ve kissed today, it’s been insane. The energy and want that surrounds us is unreal. I know she feels it, too. The way she fits into my arms is like she was made for me. I’m not ready to lose her again. Ten years was too long to not have her in my life.

  I know now isn’t the time to push her. She’s trying to sort things out, and I don’t want to spook her. I wish her a good night, and I could have sworn I saw her frown when I turned to the door. I stop in the archway and look back at her.

  “Dinner is in an hour, and we have s’mores by the fire tonight. It would be a shame if you missed it.”

  I don’t wait for her response as I close the door. I smile to myself and whistle the entire way back to the house. One day back with me, and I’m already starting to wear her down.

  She doesn’t show for dinner, and I’m tempted to march over to her cabin, toss her over my shoulder, and smack her ass. She has to eat, and I don’t want her hiding away because I’m there. Whoa, calm down, caveman! She’s an adult, and I pushed her buttons enough today. She needs some time to figure out how she feels, and I need to not be a jackass and let her.

  I pile some food on a plate and cover it so I can take it to her. I pass by a few of the kids staying with us and smile and wave as they run to the house for s’mores. I reach cabin seven, take a deep breath, and raise my hand to knock. Centimeters before my knuckles rap on the wood, I hear her yelling at someone.

  I lower my hand and strain to listen through the thick wood.

  “It’s over. Don’t contact me, don’t call me. I can’t believe you had the nerve to pull shit like that and not tell me.”

  Her voice fades out, and I imagine she’s walked into the back bedroom to finish yelling at her mystery guy. It sounds like she’s breaking up with a boyfriend.

  Boyfriend.

  Shit. I never even asked if she had one. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts of having her back and what I want to do to her. I shake the thoughts from my head and raise my hand to knock again. She pulls the door open and gasps in surprise at seeing me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I hold the plate out for her, catching her eye. “You missed dinner, and I wanted to make sure you got something to eat.”

  I pull my brows together and really look at her. She’s dressed in a white cowboy hat, a red sequined tank top, a jean skirt, and a pair of fucking cowboy boots. They look like the ones she wore when she was here ten years ago, but that’s impossible, right? She’s not going out like that. Guys will be on her the second she walks in.

  “Oh, thanks. I’m not hungry.” She gives me a sad smile and tries to brush past me.

  I grab her arm, stopping her. “Wait, where are you going dressed like that?”

  She shakes her head, her loose curls swaying around her shoulders “None of your concern. I hope you’re not this rigid with your guests normally. Or am I a special case?” she sasses.

  I lean closer and keep my voice quiet—calm. “You know damn well you’re a special case.”

  Her breath catches in her throat. “H-have a good night, Tristan.”

  She pulls her arm from my grasp and sashays down the path to the main house. Not a chance in hell she’s going out alone.

  Chapter 7

  Lana

  I was not expecting that to come out of his mouth. Actually, I don’t know what I expected him to say. I make sure to add a little more sway than normal to my walk as I head to the house to catch my ride. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Holden.

  Me: I’m going out for a drink. It’s been a rough day. Want to come?

  Then I think of it and add:

  Me: Don’t you dare tell Tristan where we’re going if you come.

  Holden: Where are we going?

  Me: The Country Line Bar. Uber will be here in a few minutes.

  Holden: I’ll meet you there in an hour.

  My ride pulls up, and I slide into the seat, closing the door as Tristan calls my name. I pretend I don’t hear him. After this day from hell, I just need a drink and to let off some steam. I don’t want to think tonight. I confirm the location with the driver, and we’re off, leaving Tristan in the dust.

  It was two in the morning in England when I called Russ. He was happy to hear my voice, until he wasn’t. I ripped him a new asshole so large he’s never going to be the same. All these years, I didn’t know. All these years, Tristan kept it from me because he didn’t want to interfere with my friendship. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry about the whole thing. It’s messed up.

  There’s a chance things with Tristan never would have gone past a few weeks after I left. I would have been okay with that, knowing we’d tried. I would know it was just the timing and our circumstances. Now, I will never know because Russ stripped that chance from me. I hate him for it.

  I let him say his side of the story, and when it correlated with what Tristan told me, I couldn’t hold back. It’s like a dam burst wide open, and I couldn’t stop what poured from my lips. He’s smart, and he hasn’t tried to call or text me back. I know Russ well enough to know he will give me time to cool off and try again, though.

  I pull open my contact list and block him just as the driver pulls up to the bar. I thank him as I step out onto the street then I make my way to the entrance. Music blares through the speakers inside as I dig my I.D. out of my small handbag to show the bouncer. He waves me through, and I take a deep breath, willing myself to relax.

  Alcohol. That’s the first thing on my mind. I want something that will help me get a nice buzz, and fast. I find a seat at the bar and look at the bartender.

  “What can I get you?”

  “I’d like a Washington Red Apple Martini, please.” He narrows his eyes at me and then turns to the bar to start mixing my drink. He puts a cocktail napkin with The Country Line Bar logo on it in front of me and plops the drink down, and a few drops of the red liquid slosh over the side and slide down the delicate glass.

  “Thanks.” I take a large gulp of it and lick my lips. There is a little more whiskey in this drink, like he knows I need it. I hold my glass up to the bartender in a cheers motion as he eyes me, and I swivel in my seat to watch the rows of people on the dance floor. God, that looks like fun. There are at least twenty people out there, lined up, all moving in sync to the country music blaring through the spea
kers.

  I remember when Tristan taught me to line dance. It was probably the best time I’ve ever had. The way his fingers felt on my hips is burned into my memory. The raw need that coursed through us; even after all these years, I can still feel it. I’m leaving in two days. Don’t get attached. I down the rest of my drink in two large gulps and put the glass on the bar.

  I hop off the stool and walk into the middle of the throng of people. It’s like they knew I was coming; a few people shuffle over, giving me space to slide in and get my groove on. The whiskey in the drink and lack of food in my belly is kicking in as I stomp my foot and shake my hips. We all turn around and start again. I laugh as I mess up the moves, and the guy next to me watches my footwork.

  His fingers brush over my hips, and he pulls his body a little closer to mine but not enough to make me uncomfortable.

  “Looks like you need a hand with the moves, darlin’.” His lips are close to my ear to allow me to hear him.

  I smile and turn to face him so I can get a good look at him, and what I see is not a disappointment—dark hair, expressive honey brown eyes, and a shirt that hugs his muscular form just right. His biceps bulge under the grey V-neck t-shirt he’s sporting. I can see a tattoo poking out from under his right sleeve, and I tilt my head to get a better look at it.

  “I’m Emmett,” he calls over the volume of the music.

  Emmett. It’s a nice name. I try it on my tongue quietly to see if I like the feel of it. I smile and shake my hips as the song ends. “Lana. Nice to meet you, Emmett.” I tip my cowboy hat at him, and he smiles wide. It’s a nice smile, warm, and it reaches his eyes that are shining with mystery.

  “How about another drink?” He places his hand over his heart. “My treat.” He motions out to the bar, and I follow his gesture, looking at the colorful bottles behind the bartender. I lick my lips, thinking of another martini, and nod. He jerks his head, and I follow him past the people sitting at the tables and on the dance floor to a corner of the busy bar. The bartender comes over, and we order. I take another Washington Red Martini, and he has a Jack and Coke, light ice.

  “Never seen you here before. Are you here on vacation?” The bartender puts the drinks in front of us, and Emmett hands a twenty-dollar bill to the guy.

  “Work, actually. I’m helping redesign some cabins out at Black Stallion Ranch for Tristan Ellis.” The man’s eyes darken a fraction, and I wonder what their story is. I tilt my head to the side, my curls falling over my shoulder. “Are you familiar with it?”

  He takes a long sip of his drink and licks some stray liquid from his upper lip with his tongue. My mind wanders to Tristan and the way he used his tongue on me tonight. How he took what he wanted, made me turn to putty in his hands after a simple kiss.

  “Yeah. I know the place.”

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I pull it out, the screen lit up with a new message from Tristan. I swipe out of it, roll my eyes, and put it away, my attention on Emmett once again. He’s a construction worker and, according to him, is very good with his hands. I laugh at his innuendo as Holden wraps his arms around my waist and holds me against his chest.

  Emmett narrows his eyes in Holden’s direction. “Can I help you? We’re having a conversation here.”

  “Not at all. Lana invited me out tonight.” He smiles wide and presses a wet kiss to my cheek.

  I wipe at the spot and wriggle out of his hold. Both men stare one another down, and I roll my eyes, kicking back the rest of my drink. I don’t have time for their shit. “Emmett, want to dance?”

  He gives Holden a cocky smirk and takes my hand, pulling me with him. I make it about two steps before Holden takes my other hand, keeping me in place. I glance back at him, and his expression softens. It’s a silent plea to not dance with Emmett.

  I sigh. “You told him, didn’t you?” I pull my hand out of Emmett’s grasp, motioning for him to give me a second.

  Like a kid who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he lowers his eyes. “Yeah. He knows.”

  I look to the door right as Tristan walks through, all tough and sexy. He’s wearing a cowboy hat with a plaid shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jeans that hug every damn curve, and thick boots. This is not the same boy I met all those years ago. This Tristian is one-hundred percent alpha male, and my mouth waters at the sight of him.

  Time stands still. He doesn’t even have to scan the crowd. It’s like he knows exactly where I’m standing. He smirks when he finds me in the crowd. Me. His intended target. I’m frozen in my place as I watch him easily navigate around chairs and patrons. A woman steps out in front of him and puts her hand on his chest. Her flirty giggle makes me want to gag. He leans his ear close to her lips and smiles when she whispers something to him.

  I’ve seen enough. I extract myself from Holden and take Emmett’s hand, leading him out onto the dance floor, just as the song changes to a slow melody. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me snug against him as I lock my arms around his neck.

  As we turn slowly, I seek Tristan out in the crowd. He’s leaning casually against the bar, a beer in his hand. The girl who stopped him is standing in front of him, but his eyes are locked on Emmett and me. A rush of excitement courses through me as his gaze flicks between Emmett and me and a frown tugs at his lips. I want this man jealous. I want him to feel just an ounce of the pain I felt. Emmett lowers his face so his cheek is against mine, and I breathe deep.

  “Emmett?” I ask, his stubble scratching my soft skin as I speak.

  “Yeah?” His voice is deep and rumbles through my chest. I pull my head back and look back and forth between his brown eyes, searching. I want to do something so bad to set Tristan off, but the longer I stare at this man, the more impossible it is to do. I don’t do stuff like this. I don’t make someone else miserable or jealous because I want to.

  “Thanks for the dance. I appreciate it, but I should get back to Holden.” I extract myself from his hold, give him a parting kiss on the cheek, and find Holden still at the bar.

  I slide in next to him. “I want to get drunk, and you’re buying.” My gaze lands on Tristan. His jaw is locked, and his knuckles are white as he holds the beer bottle to his lips. The girl still in front of him is giggling. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and a chill runs down my spine. “Holden, switch seats with me. I don’t want to look at him.” Holden glances between the two of us then slides off the stool so I can take over. “Let’s do shots.”

  I wake the next morning, and everything spins. I try to focus on the open door to the bedroom, hoping it will stop moving. How many shots did I have? I try to recount them in my mind. I had the two martinis, and I remember knocking back at least three shots of tequila. Holden made me order some food, and I remember taking only a few bites before I was on the dance floor again.

  I toss my legs over the side of the bed and look down. I’m in my bra and skirt, but my top is missing. I squint, trying to stop the spinning as I search the floor for it. I stand, holding my arms up for balance, and turn around. Tristan is asleep in the bed, or he was until my high-pitched squeal woke him.

  “What the hell are you doing in my bed?” I yell and cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover myself from his steely gaze. I try to swallow, but I’m so parched it feels like I have sand in my mouth. “Did we...” I trail off, not even able to finish the sentence.

  Oh God. Think, Lana. Think! What’s the last thing I remember about last night? Tristan showed up looking one-hundred perfect sinful. I danced with Emmett. I had Holden order me a ton of shots. My fingers fly to my mouth, and my eyes all but pop out of my head as I remember trying to feel Holden up and kissing him, mumbling something about Tristan getting action.

  He raises his eyebrow as he watches the memories of the night play across my features, his cocky grin settling into place. “Your top was scratchy with all the sequins.”

  He sits up and pushes the covers down his legs. He’s in just a pair of snug, f
itted boxer briefs, and my dry mouth salivates at the sight. Tristan Ellis has definitely filled out in the last ten years. His muscles seem to jump and twitch as I freely eye-fuck his body. My gaze settles between his legs, and I heat up as I remember how he looks and feels, how big he was back then.

  “Lana?” His voice is quiet, a softness to it.

  I snap my gaze up to his and am met with something that pulls at my heartstrings. Longing. It makes me want to run my fingers through his thick locks, pull his mouth to mine, and get lost in him. I kneel on the bed, dragging myself closer to his perfect body. I trail my fingers up the side of his arm to a tattoo over his heart, and he tenses under my touch.

  I run my fingers over the black ink, tracing the perfectly formed letters inside the infinity symbol. Promise. Memories of words he said to me so long ago come rushing back. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I always keep my promises.

  I look back to him, a silent question shining through my hazel eyes.

  “You’re the only promise I couldn’t keep.”

  Chapter 8

  Tristan

  The pain and rejection splayed across her features make me wish I’d never said the damn words. God, her fingers burned my flesh as she traced my tattoo. It was like she was trying to burn through to my soul, yet the touch was so gentle. She wanted to know about it. It was written all over her face. I couldn’t deny her that. I just wish she would say something. Instead, she nods once, stumbles toward the bathroom, and slams the door shut, locking it behind her.

  I rub my hands down my face and groan. God, I’m such a dick. I couldn’t even leave her alone last night. I shouldn’t have coaxed it out of Holden when he said he was going out for drinks with her. I tried not to go. I tried to busy myself with the guests at the ranch, but when Mom saw me pacing and I wouldn’t stop, she urged me to leave.