Page 50 of Dirty Cowboy

“Relax,” she says, that mischievous spark in her voice. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

I sink onto the couch, the towel doing little to shield me from her knowing gaze. “I’ll take that as ayes,” I mutter, knowing full well she saw me in that barn, not just yesterday but also ten years ago.

A faint blush rises in her cheeks, but her stance is unwavering. Her eyes flick down, then back up. Goosebumps prickle along her arms, her body betraying her. A tremor ripples through me, desire flaring so hot and fast I almost forget to breathe. Last night’s dream slams into me, vivid and consuming, with Emma on this very rug, wrists bound, legs spread, writhing beneath me as I sank deep inside her.

My fingers flex against the couch.

“Are you going to pick up your towel?” Emma points to the ground.

I blink. The towel slipped again and I hadn’t even noticed.

“What if my brothers came and saw you sitting naked in front of me?” she adds, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I sigh, reaching for my joggers. Turning around, I pull them on, giving her a full view of my backside in the process. When I turn to face her again, she’s biting her lip.

“Your brothers are coming?” I ask, bending to pick up the towel, right as my head collides with the corner of the table.

“Fuck,” I groan, rubbing the sore spot.

Emma’s laughter bubbles out, rich and full. “No, butwhat if they were?”

Her voice dips, playful and challenging, like shewantsto see me squirm. Like shelikespushing my buttons.

She steps closer, reaching up.

“You’re hurt,” she murmurs.

I still as her fingers graze my forehead, feather-light and careful. The gentleness of it sends a different kind of shiver through me—one that has nothing to do with pain.

Her breath is warm against my skin, her touch a whisper over the sore spot. She cradles my face, her thumb brushing over the cut, her eyes narrowing in concern.

“It’s fine,” I say, but my voice is hoarse.

“It’s not,” she counters. “You’re pale. Sit down.”

I lower myself onto the couch, mostly because my knees feel like they’ve turned to jelly.

She cleans the wound, dabbing at it with a cool cloth. The sting grounds me, pulling me back from the dangerous edge of wanting her. The scent of antiseptic replaces the scent ofher, and I force myself to breathe.

“There,” she says, pressing a Band-Aid against my forehead. “All cleaned up.”

She pushes her bangs off her face, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. When our eyes meet, something shifts.

The moment settles between us, heavy and charged, like we’ve known each other for a lifetime but are still learning the shape of who we’ve become.

I swallow.

“Thank you,” I manage. “It’s been a weird day.”

Emma steps back, planting her hands on her hips. And just like that, the tension splinters.

“More weird than Huntz walking through town this morning to pick up his mail?”

Fuck.

I tense, the cut on my forehead suddenly throbbing.

“You met Misty,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

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