Page 78 of Dirty Cowboy

I wish she could see what I see. That Huntz isn’t the problem. That she doesn’t need to dig into the past. But Emma? She never lets things go.

"You went to the ruins?" The rumble in my voice shakes through my chest.

Emma nods, her expression unreadable.

I glance down, catching the slick sheen on her fingers.

“There’s fresh food in the house," she says.

I grip her wrist, lifting her damp hand to my nose. The unmistakable scent of oil clings to her skin. "And why the hell do you smell like oil?" My disapproval is clear, but the glint in her eyes tells me she likes it. She likes me noticing and likes pushing boundaries.

"If your brothers knew the trouble you were getting into," I murmur, letting go of her wrist, "they’d personally dig my grave."

Her hesitation is brief, but I don’t miss it. Then, just like that, she switches gears, sliding her hand up my chest, her touch featherlight but deliberate.

“Do you intend to stir up more trouble with me?” she whispers, her fingers dragging lower, skimming the waistband of my boxer-briefs. “Because you could have everything my brothers don’t want you to have, right here, right now.”

Her other hand glides up my thigh, dangerously close to my dick, teasing, taunting. I should pull away. I should say something to shut this down before I lose control.

Instead, I play along.

“Oh yeah?” My voice dips as I meet her gaze. “And what’s that?”

She tilts her chin up, eyes locked on mine.

“Me.”

I swallow hard.

She’s standing just high enough in the river that we’re nearly eye level, her breath brushing against my lips. It would be so easy. Too easy. One step forward and I could press her up against the nearest tree, kiss her senseless, claim every inch of her the way I’ve wanted to since the moment she bumped into my chest.

"You know," she murmurs, her lips hovering just above mine, "I liked it better when you were kissing me."

She closes the space, her mouth finding mine in a slow, intoxicating kiss. Her tongue slides against mine, sweet and eager, and I’m fucking lost. I grip her waist, pulling her in, every curve of her molding against me. She’s shivering, but it’s not from the cold anymore. My hands drift lower, cupping her ass, pressing her tighter against my aching length.

The water is frigid, but she’s all heat. And I want her—God, I want her.

I should stop.

I won’t stop.

I drag my hands up her back, fingers tracing over damp, chilled skin. Her lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and I swear, I could spend the rest of my life memorizing the shape of them.

We need to get back.

Before I lay her down in this riverbed and completely forget where we are.

I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. The sun is dipping lower, painting everything in deep golds and fiery reds, casting an almost surreal glow around her. Her teeth chatter, and her lips have taken on a faint purple hue.

"You’re trembling," I say, forcing my pulse to slow. "Let’s go back home."

“Okay,” she whispers.

I take her hand, leading her toward the shore, our bare feet sinking into the wet sand. The contrast between the cold river and the warmth of her skin only makes my blood run hotter.

We reach the shoreline, where our clothes lie in a damp pile.

Emma holds up her jeans, frowning. "I can’t slide these over my wet legs."

---