Flawless (Chestnut Springs Book 1)
Flawless: Chapter 23

Kip: Is everything okay? Neither of you have answered my texts about your meeting with the Ariat guys.

Rhett: Yes, Daddy. Everything is fine. Some of us sleep at night.

Kip: I was worried she might have killed you. Just looking out for you, son.

Rhett: She almost did.

I sleep more comfortably than I have in, well, ever. Summer fits against me like she was made for me. I don’t even mind her cold-ass feet.

I wake up to pull her closer, or to thumb a piece of her silky hair, or to brush a featherlight kiss against those puffy lips. But it never really feels like waking up, just an extension of my blissful comfort. We smell like soap and minty toothpaste, because truthfully, we haven’t been asleep for that long.

It’s the sensation of being watched that finally draws my eyes open in the already light room. Summer is wedged under my arm, hair a tangled mess, lips all swollen and pink, bare face sprinkled with freckles like sugar on top of a cupcake.

When I meet her gaze, she doesn’t look away.

“Is this when you kill me in my sleep? You mentioned that at one point.” My morning voice is raspy, and so is her soft chuckle as I squeeze her tighter. “You’ve been playing the long game this entire time, haven’t you? You didn’t have a teenaged crush on me at all. You’ve been plotting my murder for over a decade.”

She nuzzles her face into my chest. “Shut up.”

Her eyelashes sweep against my skin as her fingers swirl in my chest hair.

“Are you hiding from me, Summer?” I fist her hair and give it a tug, forcing her chin up.

“I’m just working things out in my head.”

Yeah, well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. I knew she’d take off in the morning. All the people who I want to stay never do. It’s the ones I can’t get away from fast enough that hang around. The ones who want something from me.

I grunt noncommittally, feeling irrationally attached to Summer after getting naked for one night. Which is brand spanking new for someone who only ever wants one night.

“Don’t grunt at me, Rhett Eaton.”

I sigh and scrub at my face, wanting to fall back into the quiet, happy lull before this conversation started. “What are you working out?”

She peeks up at me. “Well, for starters, how to convince you to go again.”

My brows raise. “Yeah?”

She grins. “Yeah, but look at the time. You need to be at the arena for another interview and a meeting with a sponsor in one hour.”

I roll her on top of me, not caring at all about the fucking time. Especially not when her legs straddle my waist, and she sighs like she knows she belongs there.

“Fuck the meetings.” I grip her waist as she taps at her lip.

The sheet pools around her waist and the sun shines in brightly behind her, highlighting the beard burn across her chest, just above where her pert tits stare back at me.

“I’m also trying to figure out how I’m going to continue sleeping with a client who only has one-night stands.”

“Fuck one-night stands.” My hands glide up over her ribs, pushing her breasts together.

“It would be unprofessional for me to continue but . . .” She’s smiling now, looking light and sweet and totally fuckable.

“Fuck professionalism,” I growl, tweaking a nipple.

“Yes, well, Kip Hamilton might not share that sentiment. You’re still a client.” Her eyes sober.

“Fuck Kip Hamilton too. He’s fired.”

“Rhett—”

I silence her by sliding one hand up and pushing my thumb into her mouth, watching her lips part, and the flash of her pink tongue as I press down on it. “If you keep talking about things that don’t matter, we’re going to run out of time to do things that do.”

She just nods and sucks my finger as I grind my rock-hard cock up into her bare ass. “Now shut up and ride me. I want to watch these pretty tits bounce while you come on my cock.”

Her eyes widen, almost comically wide, but she pushes up onto her knees and drops herself down on me with a wanton little moan.

I told her I’d want to go with my head between her legs, but I think I’d settle for being anywhere close to her in my last moments.

“The interview went well.” Summer paces in front of me while I methodically tape my hands.

“Yup.” I can hear the music and the cheering from the arena all the way back here in the locker room.

“And I think the guy from Wrangler seemed happy with what you were saying to them.” From my periphery, I see her twisting her hands together.

“Mhm.” I pay special attention to my thumb. It still twinges from getting hung up a few weeks back.

“Plus, you do wear them well.”

I peek up at her now, all serious and anxious looking. “Was that a compliment?”

She furrows her brow. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” I go back to wrapping, lips tugging up as her fingers tap against the side of her thigh.

“I give you compliments,” she tells me. Like that somehow makes it true.

“Okay.”

“I do.” Her snakeskin boot stomps. “Do you need me to gush over you like every other girl on tour? Or like every newscaster Barbie who interviews you?”

I grin down at my hands. If Summer’s jealousy were water, I’d want to bathe in it. “No, Princess. Watching you get jealous over me is victory enough for a simple man like me. Never knew I’d like that so much. You are downright adorable, all pink cheeked and worked up like this.”

“Ha!” she barks, loud with disbelief. “That’s rich coming from you. You practically carried me out of that bar last night!”

“And I’d do it again. Emmett knows there are lots of great places to bury a body on my ranch. No one would ever find him again if he laid a hand on you.”

I chuckle, but Summer goes quiet. Her fingers tap on her legs again, which pulls my gaze up to her pretty face from where I’m seated on the bench.

“What’s wrong?”

“I kept you up too late last night. You should have been resting, getting ready for today. You’re an athlete. You need to prepare.”

She chews on her bottom lip. She seems worried.

“Summer, I’m fine. Come here.” I open one arm, and she instantly steps across the ground separating us, hugging me to her chest. I press my cheek to her sternum. I feel her heartbeat as her fingers slide through the ends of my hair.

“Be careful, okay?” she whispers. “Don’t give me a heart attack out there.”

“That joke is in real poor taste for you, Summer.”

She laughs, but it’s thin. Tinny.

I hug her tighter, and she leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. Understanding dawns on me what she’s not saying. What we’re both not saying. I can’t, because if I went out there every weekend with even a small flickering of fear in me, I’d never get on that bull. Logic would take over. Survival instincts.

And I’d be done.

But I’ve got those instincts strapped down tight. One more championship and maybe I’ll take my gold buckle and hang up my hat.

Preferably on Summer Hamilton’s head.

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