Page 36 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

The fire crackles low, casting flickering light over the patio stones, but the heat in my chest has nothing to do with the flames.

It’s him.

Zeke.

Still and watching, like a storm waiting for the right moment to break. His eyes are on me—have been on me—and every second that passes feels like a tether pulling tighter, a current building between us.

I should be afraid.

I’ve spent months living in fear.

Running. Hiding. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My life has been one long string of caution tape and whispered warnings.

But not here.

Not now.

Here, sitting beside this fire, with Zeke looking at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted, I don’t feel afraid or alone.

I feel wanted.

I feel alive.

He shifts forward, muscles taut beneath that worn cotton shirt, eyes like twin storms.

Wild and hungry.

But behind the hunger, I see something else.

Something deeper. Something real.

He doesn’t reach for me.

Not yet.

It’s like he’s giving me a choice.

And God, it’s been so long since someone let me choose.

My chest aches. My throat tightens.

I hear echoes of my ex in the back of my mind. Cold and calculating. The things he used to say when I flinched from his touch or wore a dress that showed too much skin.

“You’re not sexy. You’re convenient.”

“You’re lucky I want you at all.”

“You think any man wants a body like that?”

But Zeke’s gaze trails over me like a promise.

Like every inch of me is sacred.

Like he’s already memorized the landscape of my body in a dream.

“What is this?” I whisper, afraid to break the spell.

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