Page 33 of Cowboy's Healing Heart

"And your wife?"

Jordan laughed, "Don't worry about her. Just get back to Georgia. Have a wonderful day."

The line when dead and the reality set in with icy clarity: it's time to move on.

Again.

Just when I thought we had carved out a moment of safety, here comes that reminder that security is as fleeting as the wind. I can't let my guard down, not for Shane or anyone.

I don't want to break my contract, but I can't risk Jordan finding us.

Shane's focus on my hand pulls me back to the present, but the distraction of my spiraling thoughts threatens to pull me under again. I remind myself that my priority is Ashanti, that she is the only thing that matters.

Whatever connection I feel with Shane must remain just that—temporary.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Shane asks as he returns, setting the kit down beside me.

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He gives me a look, opening an antiseptic wipe. "You've been distracted all day. Snapping at everyone."

I hiss as he cleans the cut, the sting of the antiseptic a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my head. "Just got a lot on my mind," I mutter.

Shane's hands pause, and I look up to find him watching me intently. "Talk to me," he says softly. "What's going on?"

For a moment, I'm tempted. The weight of everything—Jordan's threats, the looming move, my growing feelings for Shane—all presses me down. But I won't drag him into my mess.

I force a smile, injecting as much sass into my voice as I can muster. "Aw, Kennedy, I didn't know you cared."

He doesn't smile back. Instead, his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline. "You know I do," he says, his voice low and intense.

My breath catches in my throat. We're so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes drop to my lips, and for a moment, I think he's going to kiss me.

I should stop this. Push him away and maintain that professional distance. But God help me, I don't want to.

Since that night in the truck after our spontaneous encounter at the bar, we’ve both been playing by established rules. It was supposed to be just physical—nothing more. I kept reminding myself of that mantra, clutching it tightly like a lifeline against the undertow of my emotions.

Things have been running smoothly on the job except for the mounting awareness of his presence, the heat of his gaze, and the gnawing desire to ignore everything and give in.

We’ve worked side by side without any issues—no awkwardness, no discomfort—just the familiar rhythm of machinery and the occasional banter. But with each passing day, the need to have him close, to feel that electric connection, has only intensified.

And now, with my decision to move on as soon as I can find another gig, I feel an overwhelming urgency to get my fill of him.

The reality that I need to leave this place soon hangs like a dark cloud over my head. There's a fleeting sense that I can't waste this moment, that this opportunity with Shane may slip through my fingers before I can savor it.

The thought makes my pulse race, igniting a desperate hunger I can't deny.

What if this is my last chance to feel him like this? To explore whatever it is that simmers when we're together? Would I regret it?

As I lock eyes with Shane, my heart races, and all I can think about is the way his lips felt pressed against mine that night, the thrill of surrender washing over me. The need to bridge that divide swells like a tide, threatening to drown my better judgment if I don’t act soon.

…if I don't act now.

My body craves more than just fleeting moments; it longs for all of him. But fear and caution still hold me back.

Shane leans in, his breath warm on my skin. "Krystal," he murmurs, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a fresh wave of moisture between my thighs.

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. He responds immediately, his hand sliding into my hair as he deepens the kiss.

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