A False Start: A Small Town Brother’s Best Friend Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 4)
A False Start: Chapter 27

I wake up in Griffin’s arms and have the strangest sense of belonging somewhere for the first time in my life.

I feel safe. I feel treasured. I feel like my home is held tight between his rock-hard arms.

And those aren’t the only thing that’s rock hard this morning. His bulge is wedged between my ass cheeks, and he’s got me clamped in his arms like I might run away from him, given the chance.

And nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, I’m feeling like I might just live here. Wrapped up in him. All cinnamon and pine, hard body and soft hands.

After coffee with his parents yesterday, we took Tripod for a walk, and he told me all about growing up here in Ruby Creek. He also told me more about Griffin Sinclaire, quarterback extraordinaire, and how much he loved the sport. How much he misses it. And how hard his parents worked to see him meet his every goal.

I hate to admit there was this tiny part of me that was envious. Sure, it all went to shit, and he’s been facing down demons every day since. But the rest of it? The parents? The support? The love?

I wanted that. I still do.

We came back to his place, and he ran me a bath while he stepped outside to feed the horses. I could hear him talking on his phone but tuned it out as I sank into the bubbles. When I got out, I only meant to lie myself naked on the bed.

My plan was to become an all-you-can-eat buffet for Griffin Sinclaire. But I fell asleep. And rather than wake me up to indulge in that, he tucked me in. Like a perfect gentleman. He crawled in beside me, and I woke up part way through the night, realizing what had happened.

Then I snuggled back in and passed back out. I didn’t swipe my hand beneath my pillow to check for a gun. I just fell back into the most peaceful sleep of my life. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

From across the room, his phone trills, the sound of his alarm filling the formerly quiet room, and he groans. A deep, masculine sound that makes the cage of his chest vibrate against my back.

I smile. The sun is shining through the slatted blinds, and I have the manliest man of all time holding me. What could be better?

He kisses my hair and runs a calloused palm over my bare arm before climbing out of bed and padding over to the dresser to hit the alarm. I roll over, tangled in the sheets and feeling thoroughly blissed out. My eyes fall to the round globes of his ass as he walks away.

Best view in the world.

I love that he sleeps naked. Love that he feels confident enough around me to walk around without a stitch of clothing when he seems to be riddled with so many insecurities most days. It warms my heart.

When he turns, he smirks at me. Probably because my eyes went from his ass right to his dick. “Good morning, Wildflower.”

I return the smirk. “Lookin’ good, Sinclaire.”

He shakes his head in a knowing way, but his lips tip up all the same. I expect him to come back to bed—I want him to come back to bed—but he opens a dresser drawer and starts pulling clothes out.

“Where are you running off to?” My brows scrunch together in confusion.

“It’s supposed to be a scorcher. Gonna get the horses worked before it’s just plain too hot for them.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. Guys always pull away after sex, so that’s where my head goes.

“Hey. Hey.” He crosses the room as he pulls a gray t-shirt over his head. When he gets to the edge of the bed, he drops to his knees and stretches one inked arm over me, stroking my hair as he stares into my eyes. “This means nothing more than I need to go to work. I . . .” He trails off, face falling just a little bit. “Come over tonight. When you’re done with work. Okay?”

I search his face for any clues as to what might be going through his head. On one hand, things have evolved between us kind of quickly. On the other, it seems like we’ve been circling each other for years, ignoring feelings that have always been there.

I’m anxious all the same. “Okay,” is my quiet reply.

His heavy brow presses down over his stormy eyes. “So help me, Nadia. If you’re questioning a single thing right now, rest assured, this is very real for me, too.”

My heart rate quickens, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding at hearing him say that out loud. “Okay. Here. After work. It’s a date.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “It’s a date.”

And with that he kisses me quickly and is gone out the door. The voice I’ve worked so hard to get rid of asks if I’m sure he’ll be back for more.

I walk over the field at the end of my day, not sure how to feel. Aside from hot, sweaty, and agitated. Work was busy and that kept me mostly occupied. Though I did spend a huge amount of time thinking about Griffin and wondering why he was acting so restrained this morning after not holding back the last couple of days.

Something was wrong, and that inkling keeps cropping up, twisting my thoughts and feelings into something uglier than I want where Griffin is concerned. It makes me think of my mother and how thoroughly she was swindled by my dad. By his endless amounts of money, by the sophistication of an older man. She had the world at her fingertips, and she gave it all up to be locked into a lifetime with a man who turned out to be a monster.

I constantly wonder if I’ll fall into the same trap. Even though the sane part of me knows Griffin is nothing like my sperm donor.

Something that is reaffirmed when I get to the top of the hill and gaze down over the small yard attached to the guesthouse.

There is Griffin. Reading a book in a beach chair. Swim trunks and nothing else. Just patterns painted over his endless muscles. Another empty beach chair sits beside him, and his long legs are stretched out before him, feet soaking in a small, blue plastic pool. His Bluetooth speaker is blaring some sort of Caribbean sounding music and he has a bucket full of . . .

I walk closer, heart crawling up into my throat and eyes wide.

A bucket full of my favorite pineapple flavored sparkling water.

Moving toward him, a blush creeps up over my cheeks. It’s too hot out for anyone else to notice, but I can feel it all the same.

When he glances up and grins at me from beneath the brim of his hat, I trip. I mean, goddamn. The man should not be allowed to look this good. All tanned skin, and black tattoos that give him a slightly threatening edge.

“What’s all this?” I call out, drawing closer.

“As close to a tropical vacation as I could reasonably get you right now.”

My stomach flips over on itself and my chest aches as I look over the setup again. Towels beneath a big sun umbrella. A stack of trashy magazines. A skimpy pink bikini. The man has literally thought of everything.

“Well, shit. This is pretty romantic, Sinclaire.”

He tips his chin at the bikini a little sheepishly. “Go get changed.”

“I could change right here . . .” I trail off suggestively.

He presses his lips together. “As good as that sounds, let’s not risk someone seeing you.”

“Right.” His point is so valid, but it stings all the same. I don’t want to hide this thing between us. “I’ll be right back.”

I head to the house to change, but I can tell something isn’t quite right. Something is off with him today. Who the hell turns down the girl they’re into getting naked in front of them? The chances of someone seeing us are practically zero. I slept here last night for crying out loud.

I slip into the bathing suit, and it fits perfectly because of course it does. Griffin is like this growly, dirty-talking, romantic dickhead that I can’t get enough of.

As I march back out to where he’s sitting, I get more and more annoyed. Blame it on the heat, my hormones, whatever. I walk right up to him, cock a hip, and cross my arms the way he likes. His eyes always fall to my breasts when I do this. And I’m willing to use every weapon at my disposal to find out what the hell is wrong with him.

“You’re acting weird.”

I can see him fight to keep his eyes trained on mine, but they eventually drop, and I try hard not to look smug about it.

He scrubs his beard with his free hand, the other is wrapped around a can of my favorite drink. “I know.”

“Why?”

His eyes are wide and clear, and I can see the hesitation in them. The pain in them. “Something from my past. Something I’ve been running from. Actually, more like neglecting to deal with.”

Anything but that. Anything but that because that I can empathize with. Not wanting to talk about it. After all, we don’t know each other very well. There are dark parts of my past I haven’t told him. Things I’m sure will come out over time as our trust grows. Tidbits of my story here and there that I’ll tell him when the time is right.

So instead of giving him shit, I just sigh, looking back over the field briefly. “You wanna talk about it?”

His lips roll together as he regards me. “Not really. I’d rather just sit here with you. Just being near you makes the world feel like a better place.” He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the stubbled skin on his throat. “You make me feel happy.”

Even the way he swallows has me pressing my thighs together.

“Okay.” I nod and flop into the chair beside him, and I swear I can feel the relief flowing off him.

He cracks a yellow can and hands it over to me, and I sink back into the beach chair. I’m tired, I’m overwhelmed, and I’m overthinking the hell out of things.

But when he reaches over and takes my hand in his, everything feels better. Actually, for the next several hours, everything feels a little bit better. I revel in his company, soak in the cool water, and read bullshit news about celebrities.

It’s actually bliss.

Until he ruins it all.

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