I stare out the window, watching Montana roll by, and try to remember who I was before fire and Alphas and a baby who thinks I hung the moon.

Try to remember why independence mattered so much when surrender feels this sweet.

His thumb moves again at that moment, just barely, and I press my thighs together against the pulse of want between them.

Thank God for those expensive panties.

Thank goodness for Wendolyn's chatter.

Thank the Heavens for whatever self-control keeps me from doing something stupid like covering his hand with mine and guiding it higher.

The town limits come into view, salvation and disappointment in equal measure. Soon he'll have to remove his hand, shift gears, pretend this didn't happen.

Soon I'll have to pretend my body isn't screaming for more than careful touches and loaded looks.

Goodness, it would have been nice if we were home instead so I could take a cold shower to cool off this endless arousal…

But for now, I sit in the passenger seat of his truck, letting him hold me in place with nothing more than the weight of his palm, and pretend this is normal.

“Pretend”nI'm the kind of woman who deserves this careful attention.

Imagine that I'm not terrified of how much I want this…

Boss of Cactus Ranch.

The title sits strange on my tongue, but under his touch, I almost believe it could be true.

The loss of his hand feels like amputation.

Cole shifts into park outside the feed store, his fingers sliding away from my thigh with deliberate slowness that makes me want to whimper.

The absence of his touch leaves me bereft and aching, my body screaming protests I refuse to voice.

My cheeks burn with heat that has nothing to do with the October afternoon.

Everything between my legs throbs with insistent need, and I can feel the telltale slickness gathering despite my expensive underwear's best efforts.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird, and I know—I know—my arousal must be written across my face like neon signs.

"Well," Wendolyn announces brightly, already gathering her purse, "I need to use the ladies' room. This heat always makes my makeup run silly." She slides out of the truck with surprising grace, but not before shooting me a look over her shoulder—a knowing smirk that makes my stomach flip.

What does she see that I'm missing?

The truck door closes with a definitive click, leaving Cole and me alone in the suddenly suffocating cab.

I reach for my door handle, desperate for escape,for air, for distance from this Alpha who makes me forget every hard-learned lesson about self-preservation.

"Wait."

One word, soft but commanding, and my hand freezes on the handle.

Breathe Willa.

I don't turn to look at him.

Can't.

If I do, he'll see everything—the want, the fear, the pathetic eagerness of an Omega who should know better.