Page 44 of Branded By the Cowboy

“Look.” He turns the ring so the overhead light catches the engraving inside.

Three words.

Wanted. Chosen. Seen.

They steal the breath from my lungs.

NotI love you—he wasn’t ready for that then. But this? This is something so incredibly poignant. Something I’ve spent a lifetime quietly aching for.

My throat tightens as I lift my gaze to his. “You saw me?”

He nods, emotions laid bare in his blue eyes. “From the start. I’m sorry it took me so long to stop fighting it.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until he brushes a tear from my cheek.

His touch is featherlight as if he’s afraid I’ll break if he presses too hard.

“You don’t have to stay quiet to stay,” he says softly. “Not here. Not with me.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I didn’t come here for love,” I whisper. “But I found it anyway.”

He wraps his arms around me and kisses me again. Slower this time, deeper, sealing something between us. When he pulls back, he cups my head and presses it to his chest like the storm outside isn’t half as dangerous as the thought of letting go.

I nuzzle my cheek against his soaked flannel and close my eyes. For the first time in my life, I know what it’s like to be protected by someone who sees me. Someone whochoosesme. Someone I’ve chosen back.

No contract. No conditions.

And that’s enough to weather any storm.

Chapter12

Luna

I squeal as Angus scoops me off my feet, one strong arm under my knees, the other cradling my back like I’m something precious. “W-what are you doing?”

“Making love to my wife. In my bed. Our bed,” he corrects himself as he strides across the hall to his bedroom. His boots thud softly against the wood floor. He’s so sure. So solid. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

He shoulders the door open like it’s nothing and kicks it closed behind him with a final, heavy thud. The sound is final. Private. Possessive.

I’m vaguely aware of dark furniture and the scent of sandalwood and leather as he places me on the edge of the bed—his bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight, soft but supportive. A plaid shirt is draped over a chair, a coiled belt on the dresser, and spurs hang from a hook on the wall. The whole place smells like him—clean sweat, sun-warmed cotton, and woodsmoke.

We’re both silent for a moment. The air is thick and charged.

Then he kneels in front of me.

Big, broad, six-foot-something cowboy on his knees like I’m church and he’s begging forgiveness.

He slides his hands up my thighs, slow and reverent, barely leashed hunger in the way his fingers flex against my skin. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

My throat tightens. “I want you to touch me like you did on our wedding night.”

His jaw ticks. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” His voice lowers, soft but rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. “I’m all yours, from now to the grave. You want gentle, I’ll go slow. You want it rough, I’ll wreck you. Just say the word.”

I reach for him, threading my fingers into the thick, dark waves at the back of his head. “All of it. I want all of it, but only with you. And I’m all yours, husband.”

He groans like I’ve punched the air out of him. “Fuck, Luna…”

Then he surges up and kisses me like he’sstarving. His mouth claims mine with a ferocity that makes my toes curl, one hand tangling in my hair, the other palming my hip like he owns me. Which he does. But I own him too.

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