Chapter 7

7

Bianca

Idon’t feel so good.

I’m not sick. At least, I don’t think so.

But there has been a horrible restlessness in my stomach all day long. My spine feels brittle and my skin is uncomfortably clammy. After sneaking off the farm at first light, I arrived back to the city in the afternoon. I had just enough time to shower and change for my shift at Le Chic, before dashing out of my building again, so I really haven’t had a lot of time to think. But standing behind the counter now, watching women pluck dresses and blouses off the racks, the lack of motion gives me nothing but time to think.

Of him.

I can’t stop thinking of him.

How he must have reacted when he woke up and I was gone.

The sides of my throat turn raw and gulping water is only making it worse. A woman asks me a question on the other side of the store and I nod dumbly, no idea what she said. It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My body is here, but I…

Did I leave my heart on the farm? Was I kidding myself to think I could just meet that glorious man, give myself to him and then walk away?

No, I did the right thing. I have my big meeting tomorrow.

It’s everything I’ve worked for. The pain in my chest will pass. It has to.

Right?

My shift drags on. Hours pass. Images of Dusty begin to bombard me. His touch haunts me. I can feel his hands on my thighs, his mouth on my nipples. His powerful body moving on top of mine. Somehow, I know he would love the hot pink pencil skirt I’m wearing today, the black bandana I tied across my breasts, leaving my midriff bare. My panties start to soak themselves imagining how eager he’d be to lick me. Drive his tongue up inside of me.

“Bianca, do you need to take a break?” asks my co-worker. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I say, my tone like gravel. “I just…I had a crazy night.”

She nods in sympathy. “Working hungover is the worst.”

I force a laugh and go back to the inventory sheet in front of me. “No arguments here.”

A collective murmur kicks up around the store. Something changes in the air, like a change in the energy. A prickle starts at the nape of my neck and travels all the way to the crown of my head. Is it my imagination or is the ground trembling beneath my feet a little?

A shadow darkens the counter and slowly, I look up, my pulse bouncing up, down and sideways at the sight that greets me.

Dusty is here.

He’s inside the boutique.

In an old suit that barely fits his huge body, a bouquet of peonies and daisies in his fist.

My heart spins like a dreidel. The urge to launch myself over the counter into his arms is fierce, but I’m so shocked that all I can do is stare up at him as he lays the flowers down in front of me, his heart shining in his eyes. “Beg pardon, Bianca, but I’ll be bringing you back to the farm now.”

That snaps me wide awake. “Excuse me?”

“Hell, darlin’.” He makes a rough adjustment to his white, starched collar, his gaze traveling over my breasts, tummy and hips. “Do you ever look anything but perfect?”

“I…thanks…?”

“Lord, I’m sweating just looking at you.”

“What about you? You’re wearing a suit,” I say, dazedly. What is going on here? I’m so happy to see him I could burst, but I have the distinct fear that I’m seconds from being kidnapped. Also…wow. He’s so hot.

He was sexy in ratty overalls, but in a suit, he’s a straight up Daddy.

Mine.

My panties were already wet from daydreaming about him, but they’re practically stuck to me now. This farmer drove to the city to find me, remembered the name of the place I work—and he brought flowers. “D-did you put the suit on just to come see me?”

“Just to come see you? Bianca, you’re an event.”

A soft expulsion of air puffs out of me, my heart thunking like a flat tire.

“My truck is outside. I’m fitting to put you in it now.”

“What?” Once again, I’m propelled from my stupor. “No, Dusty. You can’t just come here and abduct me. I live here.”

“You were given a warning, Bianca. You ignored it.” I squeak and spin in a circle when he begins to skirt the counter, coming around to the back where I’m standing. There’s no escape, nowhere to run. And when he hauls me onto my toes, breathing hard against my mouth, I don’t want to escape. A dangerous feeling, to be sure. “Where is your apartment, darlin’. I’m going to bring you there and remind you what’s between us. A few hours of whining and scratching at me and you’ll come with me. As docile as a lamb.”

I gasp, shoving at his strapping shoulder with the heel of my hand. “What has gotten into you?”

“A broken heart,” he rasps.

“Dusty.” Hot, gloppy tears spring to my eyes. “Please try and understand. I live here. I don’t want to leave.”

Do I?

That clean country air tasted so sweet…

“The lady in the flower shop says women don’t know what the hell they want.” Before I can track his movements, I’m being picked up and thrown over Dusty’s shoulder. His big palm cracks down on my backside, then again, giving me two rough spanks. “Well, listen to me good, darlin’. Daddy will keep chasing you and bringing you home until you figure it out.”

* * *

For several blocks,I’m too stunned to speak.

Toxic masculinity is not supposed to turn me on.

I liked Dusty because he was sweet and humble.

But this Dusty? This side of him? I can’t pretend he isn’t putting my hormones in overdrive. I’m being kidnapped against my will and I can barely focus on anything but the way his ass flexes in those tight suit pants. I can only marvel over the loose-hipped country confidence he embodies as he carries me in a fireman hold down the avenue, stopping pedestrians in their tracks. Not one man tries to intervene or help me, which is a perfect indication of what I’m working with in the city, dating pool wise.

There is no one like Dusty here.

He’s like Bigfoot showing up at a company picnic full of dudes in polo shirts and light beer, simply putting them all to shame. This is a man. And this man has decided to keep me.

Despite what I’m telling him I want.

I should want to kick him in the balls, but instead I’m just…relieved?

Oh no. Maybe women don’t know what they want?

No. Screw that. I’m not going anywhere docile as a lamb. I’m not going down without a fight. This is my home. He can’t just come here and abduct me back to his magical farm that somehow felt more like home than my own apartment.

I sniff indignantly and punch him in the butt. “Put me down, Dusty.”

“As soon as we’re in your apartment,” he drawls calmly. “I’m happy to walk in circles until you give me the address.”

“I’m not telling you!”

“I’m going to rip that little bandana off your tits as soon as we’re in the door and suck them until you scream.”

“Seventy East Nineteenth Street. Apartment 3A.”

His dark chuckle makes me frown. I punch him again in his firm, perfect butt.

I’m shaking with the erotic imagery he has put in my head. I know I should fight with him and demand he leave me alone. I know I should probably call the police or something, but as soon as we’re in my building, climbing the stairs, Dusty’s hand smooths over the curve of my bottom and squeezes, a growl emanating from his chest.

And I know I’m useless to battle this attraction.

He sets me down in front of the entrance to my apartment, flattening me against the door while he fishes my key out of my pocket, ignoring my struggles, which are half-hearted at best. I slap at his shoulders and “try” to wiggle free, but I’m also tilting my face up, hoping he kisses me—and when he does finally get the door open and plants one on me, I scale my giant like a tree, moaning into the explosive kiss, the touch of him like a breath of air after a day of inhaling soot, my heart pounding a hundred miles an hour.

Oh yeah. I’d say I’m in pretty big trouble.