Page 12 of Mountain Rancher

The barn suddenly feels too quiet, too intimate. Just Hunter and me, and this dangerous conversation.

I sigh again. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

My heart hammers in my chest.

Hunter has always been able to see through me. Even when we were kids, he knew when I was hiding something, when I was scared or lying or pretending to be tougher than I felt.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shifts closer. He’s still kneeling between my legs, but his hands now rest on either side of my injured ankle. “The truth.”

The dust motes dance in the shaft of light between us. I can hear our breathing, slightly out of sync. Mine quicker, his deeper.

“I wanted someone who understood where I came from,” I finally say. “Who didn’t think it was a joke or something quaint to outgrow.”

Hunter nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “And?”

Of course, he’s not going to make this easy.

“And someone who challenged me. Who didn’t just agree with everything I said because he was afraid of confrontation.”

“And?”

I swallow hard. “And someone who made me feel something. Anything.”

The last word hangs between us, charged and dangerous.

Hunter moves then, rising slightly but still on his knees. He slides his hands up to rest on my thighs, and the heat of his palms burns through my jeans. My breath catches in my throat.

“Someone who made you feel like this?” he asks, his voice rough.

I can’t speak. Can’t do anything but watch as he leans in, slowly, deliberately, giving me every chance to stop him. I don’t. His face is inches from mine now, his breath warm against my lips.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you were eighteen, Abby. Right before you left for college. That summer night when everyone else was asleep and we stayed up talking on the porch swing.”

I remember. How the moonlight silvered his features. How I’d wanted him to kiss me so badly I could barely breathe. How he’d walked me to my door and hesitated, just for a moment, before saying good night.

“Why didn’t you?” I whisper.

His hands tighten slightly on my thighs. “You were leaving. I was staying. You were my best friend’s little sister. Take your pick.”

“And now?”

His eyes darken. “Now I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

He closes the distance between us, and his mouth is on mine.

Soft at first, questioning. When I make a small sound in the back of my throat, his kiss turns hungry, demanding. I’m drowning in the taste of him, the feel of his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulls me closer to the edge of the bench, closer to him.

I reach for him, tangle my fingers in his hair, and hold him to me as if he might disappear. He groans into my mouth, andthe sound vibrates through me, igniting something primal and needy.

His tongue slides against mine, and I open for him, inviting him deeper. His hands grip my waist tighter, then slide around to my lower back, pressing me against him. I can feel the hard planes of his chest against my breasts as the heat of him seeps through my clothes.

He moves one of his hands to the nape of my neck and angles my head to deepen the kiss further. He slides his other hand beneath the hem of my t-shirt, his calloused palm rough against the sensitive skin of my back. I gasp, and he swallows the sound, pressing me harder against him.

“Hunter,” I manage between kisses, not sure if I’m asking him to stop or begging him for more.

---