Her cheeks turned pink.
“There may be a job opening in the ranch kitchen—”
“Seriously?” she said before I could explain further.
“I’ll confirm with the head cook, but I believe so.”
“That would be amazing, but…”
I took the potholders still covering her hands off, set them on the counter, and pulled Rebel into my arms. “But?”
“I doubt they’d want to hire someone who’s been accused of murder.”
“I had a feeling that’s what you’d say. However, you met Shadow yesterday. Do you think she would’ve been so welcoming, so generous, had she believed there was a murderer in her house?”
“She was being kind because of her friendship with you.”
“While there is a certain expectation that you’d feel the way you do, how about you trust me instead?” I saw her eyes scrunch and regretted my tone of voice. “All I’m saying is that I know these people. Innocent until proven guilty is a belief they hold dear.”
“Sorry, but personal experience has taught me that people aren’t so quick to believe the good when the bad is so much easier.”
“Does this mean you’re mad at me?”
She put one hand on her hip and cocked her head. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re standing between me and those cinnamon buns. In a moment’s time, I will likely start drooling. Although that may have less to do with the baked goods as it does with how hot you look with flour on your cheek.”
She flushed again, looked away, and stepped aside. “Have at it.”
Since she wasn’t looking, I did, but not at what she was suggesting. Instead, I wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed her—deep and hard.
Her mouth opened to mine, and I took full advantage, my tongue sliding against hers as we waged a battle of lips, teeth, and will. I wanted this woman more than I’d ever wanted any other, and while I’d never renege on my promise to respect her wishes, I’d give anything to hear her ask me to fuck her here and now.
“Touch me,” she groaned, taking my hand and sliding it under her shirt.
“Like this?” I asked, sliding my fingers under her bra and pushing the cup out of my way.
“Harder,” she begged when I pinched her nipple between two fingers.
“Gladly.” I pinched harder, twisting until her breath caught and I heard her gasp. I backed her up against the counter, grinding my straining cock against her, and then leaned down, nipping through the lace of her bra. At the same time she yelped, she pulled my head closer.
“That’s my Rebel. You like it rough, don’t you, sweetness?”
Her only answer was to groan again and rub the wetness I could feel seeping through her knickers against me. I switched my hands, held her by the arse, and slid my right hand under her shirt. Before I could torture her other nipple, my hand spasmed. Bloody hell. The moment ruined, I pulled away.
“What happened?” she asked, looking as bewildered as I expected she should.
I walked out of the kitchen toward the garage, muttering, “Nothing,” as I left.
Instead of fondling the breasts of a woman who didn’t want to have sex with me anyway, I should be working out, strengthening the weakened muscles, not just in my hand but in the rest of my body. I couldn’t afford to be lax, or something far worse would happen than not being able to pinch a nipple.
I got in the truck and drove up to the barn. What I needed now more than anything was to saddle up a horse, ride out, and get a handle on my mood before I made things worse with Rebel.
The woman had enough on her mind, enough to worry about, without me acting like a horse’s arse.
Instead of getting out, I put the truck in reverse and drove back to the house. I got out and stalked in the back door, where I found Rebel straightening the kitchen.
“Fancy a ride?” I asked, trying to seem nonchalant when all I sounded was angry.