He Ditched Our Wedding, I Married His Wealthy Uncle novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: The Farmhouse

He didn't answer.

He put the truck in drive with me still half in his lap and pulled back onto the road.

"Seat belt," he said, very calm.

His hand was shaking on the gearshift.

I slid back to my side and buckled up and laughed until I had to wipe my eyes.

"It's an hour and ten minutes to Pine Hollow," he said.

"I know how far it is."

"I'm telling you so you know I'm not speeding."

He drove exactly the limit the whole way.

It was the longest hour of my life.

Clyde was sitting on the porch of his bungalow at the gate when we turned in.

He saw my face.

He saw Ramsey's face.

He raised his coffee mug two fingers off his knee.

"I've got the night check," he called. "Don't call me. Don't call anybody."

"Clyde!"

"I'm old, kid, I'm not blind."

The farmhouse kitchen was dark and smelled like this morning's coffee.

I kicked my boots off by the door.

Ramsey toed his off beside them, like he'd done a hundred Sundays, and for a second neither of us moved.

Then he backed me into the counter and kissed me.

Slow this time.

Like he had all night, because he did.

His beard scraped my jaw.

His hands found the backs of my thighs and lifted me onto the counter, and I hooked my legs around him and pulled him in.

The edge of the sink was cold through my jeans.

He was warm everywhere else.

"Upstairs," I said into his mouth.

"In a minute."

"Ramsey."

"I've been looking at this kitchen for fourteen months," he said, kissing down my neck. "Give me a minute in it."

I gave him a minute.

His mouth on my throat, his hands under my flannel, the snap of my bra coming loose.

I gave him another.

Then I pushed him back by the shirt and slid off the counter and took his hand.

The stairs creaked on every step, the way they always did.

My bedroom was at the back of the house, an old iron bed with my grandmother's blue quilt and one window that looked down at the barn.

The barn light was on.

Clyde, keeping his word.

I stopped in front of the dresser.

"I bought something," I said. "In August. For seven weeks ago."

"Where is it?"

"Bottom drawer. I shoved it in there the night you got home."

He looked at the drawer.

Then at me, in my flannel shirt hanging open and my jeans and my barn socks.

"Leave it in the drawer," he said. "I've waited long enough to see you. I don't want anything in the way."

My face went hot.

I pulled his shirt over his head.

I'd seen him shirtless before, shoveling in August with the barn fans on.

I'd never been allowed to touch.

I put my palms flat on his chest.

His heart was hammering.

"Jo," he said. "Tell me."

"Yes," I said. "All of it. Tonight."

I put my mouth on his chest first.

I had wanted to for months.

Through August with the fans blowing and his shirt stuck to him, through every Sunday he bent over a stall gate.

I kissed the flat of his sternum and felt him go tight under my hands.

"Jody."

"I'm not done being mad at you," I said against his skin.

"I know."

"I'm going to be mad at you all night."

"Good."

I bit him, just under the collarbone, and he made a low sound and his hands came up to my hips.

I pushed them off.

"My turn," I said.

He let his arms fall.

I reached for his belt.

The leather was warm from his body.

I pulled it loose and popped the button and dragged the zipper down, and I did it slow because I wanted to hear him breathe.

He breathed like a man standing in front of a train.

"Boots," I said.

He toed them off without looking away from me.

I pushed his jeans down his thighs and he stepped out of them.

He stood in front of me in black boxer briefs and nothing else, the oak tree running down his right forearm, his chest rising hard.

His cock was hard against the cotton, thick and obvious, and I stared.

"Say something," he said.

"I'm looking."

"Look all you want."

"Shut up."

He laughed, one short breath.

I shoved his chest.

He went back onto the bed, onto my grandmother's blue quilt, and I climbed over him.

I straddled his thighs and put my hands on his stomach and ran them up through the dark hair.

His muscles jumped under my palms.

I leaned down and kissed him.

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