How West Was Won (Haven, Texas 7)

She wouldn’t have him think that. “I’ve lived in Haven long enough to know what the deal is with this place. About . . . about the rules.” She blushed as she said those words.

“Yeah? So you know that when a man takes responsibility for a woman he can set rules that she has to follow? And that there are consequences when she doesn’t.”

“Yes,” she said hoarsely. Her heart was racing. She couldn’t believe they were talking about this.

“You don’t ever have to worry those consequences would be physical for you, baby girl.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’d never spank you. Never touch you in any way.”

When she’d met West, she’d imagined being taken over his knee, her ass bared, his hand slapping against her cheeks—and she’d never been more turned on in her life.

She’d immediately loaded up her kindle with spanking and BDSM books and boy . . . she was hooked.

She knew a lot of people wouldn’t understand. Like her brother. He thought the women here were beaten down. They weren’t. They were adored, cherished, and protected. Their men cared so much about them, they’d do anything to keep them safe. Including warming their asses when they put themselves in danger.

And from what she’d heard, the women weren’t complaining. Much. Although they didn’t seem to like it when they were denied their pleasure afterwards. She got that. She was wearing out the vibrator she’d bought online reading all those books.

So when he said he’d never spank her . . . she was kind of miffed.

Obviously, he doesn’t care enough about you. What did you expect? He took responsibility for you out of pity and guilt.

“I know the way things work in this town. I know that a spanking isn’t abuse. At least not here in Haven. I’m not the naïve little fool you think I am,” she told him, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

“I don’t think you’re a naïve little fool, sunshine,” he said to her in a low voice. He was wearing a pair of soft flannel pajama pants. Funny, she never thought of West Malone as the pajama wearing type.

He also had on a tank top, which was a damn shame. She figured this was the closest she was ever going to get to seeing him naked.

He cleared his throat, and she raised her gaze up to him, guiltily. Whoops.

But instead of looking irritated or impatient, his eyes were filled with warmth.

“I’d ask you if you liked what he saw, but I think I already know the answer.” She narrowed her gaze as she glared at him. “I think it’s time you left.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. Someone should be here in case you need anything.” His gaze studied her. “Painkillers worn off?”

She wanted to say no but the only person she’d be hurting with that lie was herself, so she nodded. He reached over to the side table and picked up the bottle of painkillers and shook out a couple and handed them to her.

“I can get my own medicine, you know.”

“Not used to people looking after you, are you?” he asked her.

At one time she would have killed to have him offer to take care of her. Now, she had to guard herself against further hurt. She hadn’t forgotten the conversation they’d had the other night or that kiss. That kiss had been the hottest thing she’d ever experienced, which made it that much worse that he wasn’t interested in her. So she shrugged. “I’ve been looking after myself for a while now.”

She took the pills and the glass of water he held out to her and swallowed them down. He took the glass back. Then he reached out and cupped the side of her face. His eyes were gentle. “Well, that’s all over now.”

She shook her head, which was a mistake as her face throbbed, causing her to wince. He dropped his hand to her shoulder and started massaging slightly. “Headache?”

“A little bit,” she admitted.

“Sit forward,” he ordered her.

She looked at him quizzically. “What?”

“You’re wound up tight. Sit forward and I’ll give you a massage.”

“A massage?”