Page 26 of Dirty Cowboy

He grabs my wrist, tugging me forward, his heat wrapping around me. His voice drops to a low growl. “Should I remind you of yourbetrothedduties tonight?”

The moment stretches, the air between us turning with the charged electricity of a lightning bolt.

Then, right when things feel like they’re tipping over the edge?—

I burp. Loud and obnoxious. Sparkling wine bubbles back up in the most unladylike way possible, bursting between us.

His face morphs from intense to stunned before we both break into uncontrollable laughter.

I groan. “I amsosorry.”

His laughter rumbles through the cabin. “Laughter’s important in a partnership, Ems.”

I shake my head, still giggling. “So we’re all good?”

“We’re all good.” He lifts his glass. “To the perfect accomplice.”

“To the perfectfakeengagement.”

We clink glasses, pretending like everything is fine.

But deep down, I know better.

Because if this trip doesn’t get me Ericandmy partnership, I just might die of disappointment.

“To the perfectfake fiancée.”

I smirk. “Perhaps one day, you’ll get to find out, cowboy, there’s nothing fake about me.”

Eric swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. But then, just like that, he leans back, regaining control, his usual self-assured smirk in place. “Things won’t be dull at the ranch with you around, darling.”

He couldn’t be more right.

An hour into the train ride, I have to admit—he was right again. Taking the trainisbetter than driving. Blue skies stretch endlessly, dipping into green pastures. The city slowly disappears behind us, making way for open fields and scattered barns. The gentle rocking of the train adds to the dreamy lull, but instead of drifting into sleep, I spend my time getting answers.

Or rather, trying to.

Eric deflects nearly every question I throw at him, skillfully flipping the conversation back to me like I won’t notice. But Idonotice. And I play his game, matching his strategy move for move. After all, I have a reputation to uphold. My one-zero-zero point zero success ratedemandsperfection.

“Tristan’s holding me back. Julian, not so much,” I say, finishing my second glass of wine and leaning forward. The bubbles have fizzled out, but the warmth remains. “Hey, you’ve known them forever. Why do you think they’re doing it?”

“I’m rarely in New York, Emma,” he muses, swirling his drink, “but we can both agree they’re overprotective.”

His voice is thick, dripping with a charm that makes me wonder if it’s the wine getting to me or justhim.Because every time he says my name, something in my chest tightens, kicking up a flutter like an unexpected breeze.

Emma Silver-Waters.

The name plays in my head like a symphony. And for a fleeting moment, I can’t imagine anything sounding better.

A sudden touch jolts me back. His fingers, warm and rough, press gently over my knee. The contrast between his heat and the cool air in the cabin makes my breath hitch. By the time I manage to look up, he’s already pulling away, like my gaze has scalded him.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“About what?” My mind is still reeling, stuck on the weight of mymarriedname.

“Helping me with the pony rides at the fair.”

I blink, trying to process his words amidst the chaos of my thoughts. “Sounds like an adventure. You said it’s country themed?”

---