Page 81 of Wild As Her

Love thumps her tail once, like she knowsexactlywho I’m talking about.

I look up at the stars, trying to ignore the warm flutter in my chest that always comes with thoughts of Jack. “It’s getting worse, Love. Like, dangerous worse.”

She tilts her head.

“I mean, did youseehim in that henley last week? That thing clung to his arms like it was scared of being left behind.”

Another tail thump.

“And tonight at the bar? When he leaned over to take that pool shot? I swear to God, I almost asked him to take me right there on the pool table. He’s going to ruin me.”

Love paws at me. I swear she’s judging me harder than a therapist would.

I lean my head back against the cushion, staring out over the moonlit pasture. “The worst part is, he has no idea. Zero. He looks at me like I’m this walking, talking tornado and stillshows upanyway. And I just—” I blow out a breath. “I’m falling for him so hard it’s stupid.”

Behind me, the floor creaks in the kitchen.

I tense. And then… footsteps. Slow. Bare. And then… “Someone used up all the hot water.” Jack’s voice. Low. Sleep-rough.

I turn my head and freeze. There he is. In the doorway.Dripping. Glowing in the moonlight like some kind of vengeful ranch god. And wearing…Only. A. Towel. Just a towel.

My brain shuts down for a full three seconds.

His hair is wet and messy, curling slightly as water drips down his forehead. His chest is all shadows and sculpted heat, and the damn moonreflectsoff him like it has a personal grudge against my self-control.

“Oh,” I squeak. “Hi.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Are you talking to the dog about me?”

“No.”

Love barks.

“Love,” I mutter.

Jack crosses his arms over his chest, which didnothingto help the situation. If anything, it made his biceps flex in a way that should’ve required a warning label.

I slap a hand over my face. “God. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you compliment my henley.”

“Well,” I say weakly, “it’s a nice shirt.”

He steps forward, the porch board creaking under his foot. The towel shifts slightly, and I nearly choke on my own tongue.

“Cami.”

“Nope.” I huff.

“What?” he murmurs.

“Whatever you’re about to say, I can’t handle it while you’re looking like that and dripping all over my emotional instability,” I tell him, but I’m mortified he heard all of that. My cheeks feel hot, my palms grow sweaty, and my stomach is full of butterflies. I wish I could crawl under this blanket and take it back from him hearing that. And I know he won’t let me run and hide. He’s having this out now. Right now.

“You were also saying something about pool. And taking youright there on the table?” He grins, and something about those words repeated back to me makes me squirm even more under the blanket.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for wet cowboys.”

“Jack, I am one weak moment away from making a really bad decision and blaming it on moonlight and your lack of clothing.”

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