Page 55 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

We ride for another ten minutes in easy silence until I spot the old oak tree near the south pasture—the one with the split trunk and perfect dappled shade.

I guide her toward it and swing down first, holding Peanut’s reins as I reach up to help her dismount.

A couple of ducks are wandering out of the small creek that runs behind the ranch.

Technically, it’s on Max’s property, and sometimes I go swimming in it.

But not right now.

Now is for other things.

“Dismount,” I say, hands reaching out towards her.

She hesitates. “I don’t think I can do that without falling on my face.”

My lips quirk, but I fight my grin.

“Then fall on me.”

I slide my hands up her hips to her waist, then I lift her down.

The moment her body presses against mine, the air thickens.

Her breath catches.

My hands linger.

I let them.

Then, I step back and grab the cooler I packed with our food.

We settle under the tree, sitting on a blanket I keep in my saddlebag. The picnic cooler sits between us, and Casey folds her hands on her lap and bites her bottom lip.

So damn cute.

I carefully unpack the sandwiches and salads, some fruit and a couple of brownies I hid at my place just in case my girl had a sweet tooth, which she totally does.

She teases me about baking brownies, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t help it, I love her sass.

“What kind of rough, broody cowboy makes brownies from scratch?” she asks, when we finish the savory foods, and she takes a big bite of gooey chocolate goodness.

“Are you trying to seduce me with baked goods?”

“Is it working?”

She pauses. Smirks. “Maybe.”

The laughter fades for a beat. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. We’re both still, both quiet, both waiting.

And then she leans forward just a little—just enough.

I meet her halfway.

The kiss is slow.

Sweet.

And then it’s not.

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