Page 85 of Dirty Cowboy

His fingers slide under my chin, tipping my face up toward his. His dark eyes search mine, his thumb brushing lightly along my jaw.

"This isn’t about your brothers or my grandfather," he murmurs. "I want you, but not like this. You deserve more. You’re worth more."

My heart stumbles, and my mouth opens, then closes. He bends, scooping me into his arms before I can protest.

"Eric!" I wriggle against his hold. "What are you doing?"

"Your boots are covered in shit. I’m taking you home."

"You’re gonna carry me all the way home?"

"No." He smirks. "I’m gonna drive you."

With surprising ease, he lowers me into a waiting wheelbarrow.

"What the hell?—"

Before I can argue, he grips the handles and starts pushing, my legs dangling over the edge as the wheel wobbles through the grass. The ridiculousness of it all crashes over me, and laughter spills out of my chest.

"You’re ridiculous," I giggle, gripping the sides.

"And yet, here you are, being chauffeured like a princess," he teases.

By the time we reach the front porch, my stomach aches from laughing. He lifts me out, holding me just a moment longer than necessary before setting me down.

The scent of chili wafts through the open kitchen window, warm and familiar.

"You cooked?" I ask, inhaling deeply.

"Vegetarian chili," he says. "We can have your apple crumble for dessert. Hungry?"

I nod, aware of a different kind of hunger curling low in my stomach.

"I need to clean up and get dressed," I say.

"I’ll meet you in the back."

I rush upstairs, stripping quickly and stepping into the shower. The warm water does little to wash away the lingering heat of Eric’s hands, and the memory of his mouth on mine. I press my fingers against my lips, inhaling sharply.

I was so close.

Dressing quickly in fresh sweats and a shirt, I tie a sunflower scarf around my head, letting the ends drape over my shoulder. As I make my way downstairs, Eric is already in the kitchen, waiting.

“Dinner’s ready outside,” Eric says, his voice smooth and steady, like he didn’t just have his fingers inside me minutes ago.

I step onto the patio and stop short. The space is bathed in soft candlelight, each flickering flame caught in the gentle evening breeze. Overhead, fairy lights twinkle like fireflies, casting a warm, golden glow over the polished silverware and crystal glasses. A bottle of red wine sits uncorked, perfectly placed between our plates.

My hand flies to my mouth as a soft gasp escapes. “Eric, this is beautiful.”

His phone buzzes against the table and his shoulders tighten, tension rippling through him like a drawn bowstring. He checks the screen, lips pressing into a thin line before tucking the device back into his pocket. When he looks at me again, he forces a smile, but worry lingers at the edges.

"I hope you're hungry." He pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman.

"Starving."And not just for food.

He pours us each a glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching in the moonlight. He lifts his glass. “To a beautiful friendship and many more evenings under these stars.”

Watmth swirls through me at the thought of more nights like this. More laughter. More stolen kisses. More of him.

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