Page 36 of Saddle and Bound

“Mind if I cut in?” I ask, my voice coming out sharper and more forceful than I intended. Great. Apparently, I’ve decided to embrace my inner caveman. Did I mention how infuriating Rosalie Thorne can be?

Jake nods, clapping me on the shoulder before stepping back. “Sure thing,” he says, leaving Rosie and me a little space.

Rosie takes a step closer, invading my personal space. Her scent, sweet, delicate, elegant, makes my head spin. Her expression is stormy, her eyes blazing.

“Can’t mind your own business, can you, cowboy?” she snaps.

Without waiting for a reply, she pivots and heads toward the center of the dance floor, throwing me a challenging glance over her shoulder. I follow her like a man possessed, drawn in by her magnetic energy.

Then, on impulse, I reach out, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her back toward me. My grip is firm but careful—not enough to hurt her, but enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Starting to like cowboys, are we, princess?” I emphasize the wordprincess,knowing full well how much she hates it. And yet, for the briefest moment earlier, when I saw her laughing with Jake, I felt a flicker of something raw. Now, though? Now, I can’t help but savor the thrill of making her mad.

I pull her closer, her face now inches from mine. Her eyes meet mine in a fiery stare-down.

Our bodies are closer than they need to be. I can feel the heat of her skin, smell the delicate fragrance of her hair. It’s intoxicating. One hand rests on her shoulder, the other slides to her waist, holding her steady. I catch a flicker of something in her—a slight startle, a blink, a swallow—before she finds her voice again.

“Jealous, cowboy?” she taunts, putting the same biting emphasis oncowboy.

I start to fire back a sharp retort, but instead, my grip on her waist tightens slightly, betraying me. Her brow arches, her defiant expression sending a thrill through me that’s impossible to ignore.

“How about a dance?” I murmur, my voice so low I can barely hear it myself. My lips are close to her ear, brushing lightly against the delicate curve of cartilage. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, I squeeze her waist again, my hand moving in an unconscious caress, mesmerized by her.

The music shifts again, the melody turning slower, more sensual. Rosie begins to move, her acceptance of my invitation silent but unmistakable. Every movement is deliberate, graceful, and maddeningly alluring. Her hips sway to the rhythm, her eyes never leaving mine.

Our hands brush against each other, and a jolt of electricity shoots down my spine.

We dance, our bodies close but never too much, caught in a delicate game of attraction and resistance. I fight against the impulse, the urgent need, to cling to her, to press myself against her, leaving not the slightest gap between us.

"Not bad, princess," I comment, striving to keep my tone detached. But my voice betrays me—it’s pure adoration.

Rosie smiles, a flash of challenge sparking in her eyes. "Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, cowboy."

She turns, her back just inches from my chest. I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, see the curve of her neck. I want to sink my lips, my teeth, into it. My eyes trace the perfect curve of her hips, and I can’t help but imagine touching her, squeezing, spanking her.

The urge to touch her, to punish her for every infuriating second of tonight, is almost unbearable.

“You’re a very insolent princess,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear again, my hands steady on her hips.

She turns back to face me, her freckles up close and her eyes searing into mine. “Maybe,” she whispers, “but who says I like being good?”

The tension between us is thick, the air electric.

“Oh, you’re far from good,” I breathe. “You deserve a punishment.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I barely know what I’m saying anymore. My focus is entirely on keeping my hands where they are—and failing miserably.

She leans in slightly, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I doubt anyone could give me one, cowboy.”

Her challenge lights a fire in me, but I can’t speak, completely captivated by her. I tighten my grip on her hips, lost in the moment.

We keep dancing, each movement a duel, each glance an unspoken promise.

Around us, the party continues, but it feels like we’re alone in a world of stolen glances, fleeting touches, and unsaid words.

As the song ends, Rosie pulls away slightly, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Thanks for the dance, cowboy,” she says, her voice a perfect blend of sweetness and provocation.

Before I can reply, she turns and walks toward her friends, leaving me behind with my heart racing and a thousand questions spinning in my head.

---