Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance

Summer: Did you leave with Cade?

Willa: Yeah.

Summer: You could have stayed with me! We’re getting a cab.

Willa: Nah. Cade’s hotter. Went home with him instead.

Summer: Lol.

Summer: Wait. Are you joking? I can’t tell.

Willa: Save a horse, ride a cowboy.

Summer: I still can’t tell.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I rasp as I see Cade’s imposing form step onto the deck. The sight of him standing above me, looking down on me in the hot tub, makes my stomach flip. He’s downright mouthwatering with swim trunks riding low on his hips, framed by a cut V-shape that disappears beneath them.

A V-shape my fingers itch to trace.

I press my thighs together at the intense expression on his face. If it’s a scowl, it might as well be the hot one. Because the look is sizzling. Maybe it’s in my head. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

Maybe I have a crush on an older man.

Again.

It’s pretty much part of my personality now. I’ve always had a thing for older men. I like to bug Summer about her dad being hot—but I’m not really joking.

I need therapy.

“I can leave.” Cade’s deep voice rumbles through the cool night air, the smell of freshly mowed grass mingling with the light tang of rain. I heard thunder but didn’t see lighting, so I figured I’d take my chances with staying submerged in the hot water.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your house, I’ll leave.” I push to stand as he approaches, failing at not checking out the imposing width of his shoulders, the way his scruff dusts down over his sharp jawline and throat, the muscles in his thighs.

When I go to step out, Cade’s harsh voice lances through the silence. “Please. Sit down.”

I glance up to see where the bite in his voice came from, but his eyes are trained on my chest. On the unpadded one-piece swimsuit I’m wearing.

On the way my nipple piercings press against the fabric.

With a small squeal, I fall back into the water and sink down. It’s not like I’m embarrassed about my piercings—I actually love them—but I don’t typically waltz around advertising them to employers.

I see his jaw pop as he avoids meeting my eyes while he climbs into the sunken tub, holding a hefty glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Did you, uh, build this deck?” I offer lamely, mind racing with how I must be the naughty girl who drops panties and flashes her pierced tits at him.

But then he’s the man who suggested he wouldn’t be quiet while I gave him a blow job. The one who ran away when I questioned it.

I berate myself internally. He’s the man who signs your paychecks, you horny fool.

“Because it’s a really nice deck. The way you worked the hot tub into it? Top tier.”

He settles in across from me, arms slung the length of the hot tub, chin dipped just slightly as he glares at me from beneath his lashes.

This scowl has him looking like a predator.

Not a grumpy rancher.

Not a sweet single dad.

Like someone who has a lot more experience than I do staring me down in an unnerving way.

“I made it, Red.”

Red. It’s not the first time a person has taken to calling me that. Usually it’s regulars at the bar. Usually it’s a casual nickname.

But with Cade, it feels different. I like it. Feels like he has a special name for me.

I’m so lame.

“You did good,” I reply, rolling my lips together and admiring the deck. I’m not lying, it’s a great deck. I just feel like a bumbling idiot bringing it up. It’s probably worse than talking about the weather.

“Would you like a drink?” His voice isn’t harsh, but it’s strained.

Hell yes. A drink would be excellent for this situation. “Sure.”

He shifts and stares down at his lap before stretching one long, muscled arm in my direction, a crystal tumbler held between strong fingers, forearms rippling in the dim light. The veins like an enticing path. My eyes can’t help but wander up to his biceps.

To his chest and the dusting of black hair there.

To that little dip between his collarbones.

The man is a walking, talking wet dream and I’m not even sure he realizes it.

I take the glass from him, trying to ignore the zing of electricity that shoots up my arm when our fingers brush. I drop his glare, focusing on the glass—on not dropping it. “Thanks.”

When I peek up at him, he’s still glaring at me. And I’m not sure what I’ve done to make him mad.

“You’re welcome.”

“What is it?” I take a sip, grateful that I can hide behind the rim of the glass for a minute and try to find my composure.

“Bourbon.”

The sweet burn of it warms my throat, and I lean into that, trying to let it soothe my nerves, the ones that are rioting under his stare.

More often than not, his scowls make me want to flip him the finger, but I feel a bit like we turned a corner tonight, and now the glare is making me feel self-conscious.

While I lick the remnants off my lips, I slide through the water to hand it back to him. His eyes follow my tongue in the least discreet way. The brush of it more sensual than I anticipated. The weight of the water pressing on all the best places.

I’ve never reacted this way to a man simply looking at me. Years in a bar with men giving me covetous looks, and none had me fumbling around like a nervous virgin.

I should hate him for it. But I’m intrigued. “Want to play a game?” I ask, pushing backwards across the space toward my bench. My foot glides against his calf as I go.

He quickly pulls his leg away. “I’m a little old for games, Willa.”

I quirk a brow, hiding my arms under the water to cover the gooseflesh popping up in response to his words. “Never too old for truth or dare.”

He stares at me, fingers pulsing around the glass propped up in his hand.

Having Luke out of the house is making me bold. It’s just us and what feels like an endless stretch of land behind me. “Truth or dare, Cade?”

He takes a swig, eyes almost coal black in the night. “Truth.”

“Where are my panties?”

His lips slope up, a sly expression hitting his face. “In the garbage.”

I giggle, tipping my head up to stare at the stars overhead. “Good. Your turn to ask.”

A deep rumble hums in his chest, and my eyes drop to the definition in his pecs. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” No way am I picking dare. He’ll dare me not to talk for a week or something.

“Why did you have underwear in your purse?”

I push forward to snag the glass of bourbon out of his hand. My knee brushes his, but this time he doesn’t move. I take a small sip, eyes shifting to meet his. “Honestly, I don’t like wearing underwear. They’re uncomfortable, they ride up, they leave panty lines that I hate. They’re just a nuisance, so I carry a spare pair.” I point at him. “Clean ones. Just in case of emergency.”

“A panty emergency?”

I shrug, pressing the glass back into his fingers and giving them a squeeze around the glass to make sure he doesn’t drop it. “You just never know,” I reply as I move to his bench rather than across from him.

It will make sharing the drink easier.

That’s what I tell myself.

“Why do panty lines matter? If people know you’re wearing underwear, is that . . .” His face scrunches kind of adorably. “Is that a bad thing? Everyone wears underwear.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s true. I guess it shouldn’t matter.” I hold up an imaginary drink in his direction for a fake cheers. “Thank you, patriarchy.”

“You know I’m right.”

“You might be right, but I still hate them.”

His lips work against each other like he’s really chewing on something. “Every morning when you text me you’ve put them on, are you lying?”

“You just had your turn, Eaton. Don’t be greedy with the questions. I thought you didn’t like playing games?”

“Fuck my life,” he mutters, taking another long pull of the alcohol.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s the story with Luke’s mom?”

The blank stare he gives me is unnerving, but I don’t back down. I’m probably being snoopy, but I also spend all day with this kid. I’m supposed to attend a birthday party with him. It seems like something I should know. The bare bones of it, at least.

“Did I go too far?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Her and I knew each other since high school. She was always around. I knew she liked me. Hell, everyone knew. She wasn’t subtle about it. My mom died when I was eight—giving birth to my little sister—and Harvey struggled with losing the love of his life, having a newborn and three little boys to raise all on his own. So I stepped up. I grew up fast and did more than most eight-year-olds should ever have to do. I look at Luke . . .” His eyes trail away, past me, out into the pitch darkness behind me. “I wonder how the hell I did what I did. How everyone just let me. I did school, pitched in around the ranch, cleaned, cooked what I could, and helped everywhere possible. Because that just seemed like what needed to be done.”

My chest aches uncharacteristically. Our fun, playful game took a more serious turn. I try to imagine a little Cade. A boy not really getting to mourn his mother’s death because he just threw himself into doing what needed to be done rather than doing what he wanted to.

“I spent years living that way. It’s a hard role to shake off. And I don’t know that I would have if I could have. And then one night Talia was there. She was willing. I was drunk and so damn tired of being responsible. And that was all it took. One little plus sign and I did what needed to be done. I went from rolling my eyes at her antics to get my attention, to irrevocably stuck with her. We got married. And while the chemistry was lacking, I’ll admit I liked having her around. The company. I guess I was so busy working the ranch that I missed the part where she was miserable. Where she was off sleeping with other people.”

He chuckles now. “Or maybe I noticed and just didn’t care.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. Because I don’t think this man has ever strung so many words together and directed them at me. I don’t think he’s ever told me anything personal, and then he goes and unloads all that. And I soak it all up raptly, loving getting to know this man who’s been a mystery wrapped up in an enigma. Loving that he feels comfortable enough to share it all with me.

“And then she left. I came home from working one night and there was a note. Luke was with my dad. And that was that.”

“How old was Luke?”

“Two.” He takes a deep swig, the column of his thick throat working as he swallows.

“Does she ever visit?”

“Whoop.” His index finger pulls off the glass, and he points at me. “You’ve already asked two questions in a row, Red. My turn.”

My lips press together and I nod. “It’s admirable, really. Everything you’ve done for your family.” He doesn’t respond, so I just clear my throat and forge ahead. “Your turn.”

“I bet you’re too chicken to pick dare,” he taunts, eyes looking a little glassier than they did when he first walked out here. The heat. The bourbon. The walk down memory lane.

He looks different. Lighter somehow.

“Dare.” I’m not going to let him figure me out that easily.

He swirls the glass and studies me like he’s weighing his options. With one more swig of liquor, he says, “I dare you to sit up on the edge of the hot tub for the rest of this game.”

I blink slowly, hearing the rush of blood in my ears. The pounding of my heart.

He thinks he can make me put a stop to this game. But I’m not sure Cade Eaton knows me all that well. If he wants me to sit where he can watch me while he drinks bourbon, then I’m all in.

I’m not going to fold.

Pushing myself across the tub and out of the water, I hold his dark eyes, lips parting on a labored breath. I don’t look down and neither does he as I slide my ass onto the edge of the hot tub, leaving my legs dangling into the water.

It’s a test of wills, which one of us is going to look down at my chest first. And this time it’s not just the metal barbells causing a scene. My nipples are pointing straight at him.

“My turn,” I rasp.

He nods, still holding my gaze. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare, Cade?”

“Truth.” A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Wimp.” He doesn’t even react to my jibe. “If you’re really good at rodeo stuff, why wouldn’t you go do those events while I’m here to help you?”

The weight of his gaze has my entire body humming. The intensity in his eyes. I feel like he’s trying to light me on fire with his glare alone.

I lean back on my hands, waiting for him to answer.

But instead, he claims his prize. His eyes rake over my body, and I feel it, like the tip of something cool and pointed. There’s no distaste on his face this time. It’s pure want. And that’s a look I can recognize.

My core throbs and I feel too hot, even with the cool night air hugging my skin.

I sit, watching him. Watching his expression. Watching him devour me with his eyes.

I do the same. Unable to tear my attention from the beautiful, intense man before me. The way the skin on his throat throbs over his pulse point. The subtle shake of his head as his tongue presses into the side of his cheek.

“Because it’s frivolous. I have responsibilities that I can’t overlook.” He’s talking to me, but he’s staring at my breasts.

“We all need to do something frivolous sometimes. Even you.” I absently wonder if we’re talking about rodeos at all right now.

“Careful, Willa. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His jaw pops as he glances up at me.

I reach out to him, pulsing my fingers, silently asking for what’s left of the drink in his hand. Needing a little liquid courage of my own. He moves forward, handing it over and hovering before me. Indecision tracing his every feature.

“You’re a giver, Cade.” I take a sip before I stare down at him and delicately wipe my lips. “What if you took something for yourself for once?”

“I can’t,” his voice cracks as he looks at me imploringly.

“You should let me help you. You deserve to enjoy yourself too.”

Now I know we aren’t just talking about the rodeos. We’re toeing a line. A line between employee and employer. A line between an older man and a younger woman. A line that may well differentiate appropriate from inappropriate.

“No.” He grabs the glass and pushes himself across to the opposite side of the square, leaning back to feast on my body. I chance a look down at myself now, seeing the outline of my nipples battling against the fabric and the thin nylon at the bottom of my swimsuit lewdly wedged between my pussy lips.

Something that hasn’t escaped his attention based on the way his eyes snag there before slipping back up to the dark sky above us.

A little part of me wants to hide in the water, but the bigger part of me gets off on sitting here on display for him. Knowing he likes what he sees but won’t let himself touch. Knowing he wanted to see it.

Knowing his cock has got to be rock-hard under the water.

“Truth or dare,” he bites out.

“Truth,” I reply, not sure I can handle another dare or where it might take us.

His brows furrow and his eyes narrow on mine. “What are you thinking right now?”

“That I like sitting here with your eyes on me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, running a wet hand over his face and through his dark hair before tossing his head back and polishing off the dregs of the bourbon.

“What are you thinking?” I push. Wanting to know. Wanting to hear him say he likes what he sees.

“I didn’t pick truth, Willa.”

I bite my lip, regarding him. Wondering if I’m going way too far right now and wondering if it matters. Watching him struggle to hold himself back, watching him put himself through hell to keep things appropriate.

“Truth or dare?” My voice is full of undisguised desire. I’ve used this voice before to get what I want. It’s worked for me with other men. But never has it resulted in the expression of distressed pleading on Cade’s face when he glances up at me and says, “Dare.”

His expression doesn’t say crawl onto my lap and ride me. It says help me.

And so that’s what I do. But probably not in the way he saw coming.

“I dare you to do those rodeos and let me take care of Luke while you do.”

The look he gives me back is dark and fathomless. It’s confused and thankful all at once. Disappointed and relieved in the same beat.

When I hear his low, “Okay,” I smile softly at him and swing my legs out of the water onto the deck, not oblivious to the way he’s blatantly watching my every move now. I feel momentarily self-conscious, like he might see something he doesn’t like.

But I shake the thought away. The lighting is dim, and it doesn’t matter if he sees the dimples on my ass anyway.

Away from the steam of the hot water and the buzz of the bourbon, things look a whole lot clearer. And what Cade Eaton thinks of my body is of little importance.

I wrap a towel around myself, turning only when I hit the back door. “Good night, Cade.” He drops his head back and stares at the blanket of stars. “Thanks for . . . the game.”

He doesn’t turn to look at me when he rasps, “Goodnight, Red.”