Chapter 23

Ramsay

The imagery was almost too much for me.

Between seeing an actual unicorn in the flesh—something I had never ever believed existed in real life—and Willow talking about stripping naked and running around in the rain, I'd had to excuse myself for a moment.

Upstairs, I sat on the corner of the bed and tried my hardest not to think about Willow.

Willow naked in the rain.

Water running down those delicious curves.

Her bum bitable and glistening with rain.

It didn't help that I'd chosen my bed to sit on, because now all I could think about was bending her over the mattress and pressing myself into her softness.

I groaned, running one hand through my hair, and stood to pace.

A real, live unicorn had just visited us.

And all I could think about was Willow.

Willow on a date with another man.

A man who wasn't me.

Which was fine. Dating was a totally normal thing that single people did, and I should have expected that an attractive woman such as Willow would eventually be asked out on a date. Particularly when she was a new face in a small town. The dating pool was limited here, wasn't it? And I should be the last person to begrudge Willow a chance at having some happiness with some stupid fecking eejit who probably had no idea how to treat her well.

Maybe I should tell Miles. Get him on her case. Yeah, that might be a good idea.

Even as I thought it, I dropped back on the bed and ran my hands over my face. Willow would destroy me if I told Miles she was going on a date. It was her business to share or not share, not mine. She'd already made it abundantly clear just how much she hated his interference in her life.

And instead, I had to go downstairs and pretend like it wasn't driving me absolutely mental knowing that she was going on a date with another man tonight.

Another man? Shouldn't I mean any man?

Why did my brain seem to insist that I should be the one going on a date with Willow? No matter how many times I lectured myself that I had no reason to think of Willow other than as a kind and caring co-worker and friend, for some reason, I wanted more with her. I liked sitting in the kitchen, talking to her over a cuppa while the rain fell outside. She'd poked me into talking to her, and my instincts to share about the night before had been right. I'd felt better once we'd spoken, and I didn't want to lose that newfound closeness I'd found with her.

I wanted to be the one taking her to dinner.

I wanted to be the one wrapping my arms around her at the end of the night.

I wanted to be the one making her laugh so hard that she snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth.

And yet here I was, refusing to say the things that I wanted to say.

They say pride made for a cold bedfellow, but I was beginning to think loyalty did as well.

Cursing Miles for having such an incredible human as a sister, I returned to work.