“I should have told you,” she murmurs.
I swoop a hand over her head and give her shoulders a squeeze, still trying to avoid that warm, bare patch of skin on her back, and reply with, “I should have asked. I’ve just been . . . busy. I didn’t think your life would just . . . happen this fast.” And that part is true. Her engagement blindsided me.
Her body relaxes in my arms, soft breasts pressing against my ribs as her fingers dig into my back. But only for a moment before she pulls away. The hug went on long enough that it was more of an embrace. It was toeing the line.
But I still find myself wanting to pull her back in.
“Well, it is.” She looks down and brushes at the sleeve of her pale green dress, silky and shimmering in the dark light. “My dad and I agreed it was best to move forward with the wedding in the fall rather than drawing it out.”
That comment has my teeth clamping down, because the mere mention of Robert Winthrop sets me on edge. And him taking part in her decision to get married has all sorts of alarm bells going off.
“Why?” My brow knits. I should know better. I should walk away. I should let her be happy.
I shouldn’t be this bothered. Maybe if she actually seemed happy. I wouldn’t be.
Or maybe I would.
She waves a hand and glances over her shoulder into the restaurant, exposing her elegant neck as she does. “Multiple factors,” she replies with a defeated shrug. It’s like she knows her time with me is dwindling. I don’t get the sense that Sterling is going to be the type of husband that’s okay with her and I being friends.
“Factors? Like you just can’t wait to be Mrs. Woodcock? Because no one wants that as a last name. Or is this your dad pressuring you?”
Her blue eyes flare at the mention of her dad, because Sloane doesn’t see him as a snake. Never has. She’s too busy being the perfect daughter—and now fiancée. One who looks good on paper and doesn’t go hunting. “And what if he is? I’m twenty-eight. My best dancing years are drawing to a close. I need to settle down, come up with a life plan. He’s looking out for me.”
I huff out an agitated laugh and shake my head at her. Where’s the wild girl I remember? The girl who danced in the rain and would crawl onto the roof so I didn’t have to be alone on the bad nights?
That girl has been molded into a pawn. And I hate that for her. We’ve never fought, but suddenly my urge to fight for her consumes my better judgement.
“Your dad is an asshole. He cares about himself. His business. Optics. Not your happiness.”
She lurches back like I’ve struck her, lips thinning in anger as she flushes all the way down her chest. “No, Jasper. Your dad is as an asshole. Mine loves me. You just don’t know what that looks like.”
She spins on her heel, yanking the restaurant door open with a level of violence that doesn’t suit someone so delicate looking.
But I’d rather she show violence than apathy. That means the wild girl is still in there somewhere.
She hurled words at me that should hurt. But I just hurt for her. Because my biological dad is an asshole. But the man who really raised me? Harvey Eaton? He’s the best of the best. He showed me what love looks like, and I can identify it just fine.
Plus, I remember how Sloane looks at a man when she really wants him. And she isn’t looking at her fiancé the way she used to look at me.
I’m more pleased about that than I should be.
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The rules were simple. Keep my hands off his daughter and stay out of trouble.
But now I’m stuck with her. There’s only one bed. And well, rules are made to be broken.
I’m the face of professional bull riding—the golden boy. Or at least I was, until it all blew up in my face. Now my agent says I have to clean up my image, so I’m stuck with his ball-busting daughter for the rest of the season as my “full-time supervision.”
But I don’t need a goddamn babysitter, especially one with skin-tight jeans, a sexy smirk, and a mouth she can’t stop running.
A mouth I can’t stop thinking about.
Because Summer isn’t just another conquest. She sees the man behind the mask, and she doesn’t run—she pulls me closer, even when she shouldn’t.
She says this means nothing.
I say this means everything.
She says there are boundaries we shouldn’t cross. That my reputation can’t take any more hits—and neither can her damaged heart.