Page 23 of Ride Me Cowboy

He throws me another glance, eyes on my face. “I liked seeing you relax. You don’t do it enough.”

“I’ve only been here a week. How do you know that?”

“Cause I’ve seen you,” he says unapologetically. “You’re wound tighter than a banjo string.”

I smile at the expression, but then sigh, because he’s right. “I know.”

“Is it the work?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Anything you’re finding too hard?”

“No,” I almost laugh. “It’s fine. I could do this stuff in my sleep.” But even then, after too much wine, I realize that might seem offensive to Reagan. “I mean, I don’t mean, that’s not to say?—,”

“It’s okay,” he says, gently. “She said you were overqualified.”

My cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to sound?—,”

“You didn’t sound anything.”

I bite into my lip and focus out of the window, hands fidgeting before I hear Christopher’s voice and smooth them out on my thighs.

“I make you nervous, don’t I?” he asks, after a few minutes of silence have stretched between us.

I swallow past a thickness in my throat. I mean, I’m nervous around him, but that’s not the same thing as him making me nervous. “Not exactly,” I say, after a beat.

“What’s that mean?”

I turn to face him, thoughtfully. “I’ve never known anyone like you before,” I admit.

“A cowboy?” he turns to me and flashes a tight smile. My stomach flips.

“Not just a cowboy,” I murmur thoughtfully. “Like some kind of AI generated, hot, kind, too-good-to-be-true cowboy.”

He approaches a stop sign but the expression on his face makes me think he might have stopped the car anyway, sign or not. Shock shifts his features.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re just way too…everything. It’s a little unnerving.”

He laughs then. Tilts his head back, and laughs. “You mean Beau, right?”

I wrinkle my nose as I shake my head.

“Well, gee, Beth.” His voice is deep though, despite the humor in his tone. “That I did not see coming.”

He starts to drive again, a tension in his frame I can’t help but notice as we approach the ranch and he turns the car off the road, then begins heading up the long, winding drive to the ranch house.

The car smells like him, even though he’s only been in it since we left The Silver Spur. It’s a nice smell. Heavenly, in fact. Woody and masculine, addictive.

He pulls the car up and cuts the engine, then quickly gets out and comes around to my side, opening the door before I even realize what’s happening. My brain is sluggish, the alcohol really hitting me hard now. As if he realizes that, he reaches in and undoes my seatbelt, then puts a hand around my waist to help me out. Except, when my feet connect with the ground, I wobble and he curses under his breath before scooping down and lifting me right up, clean off the gravel, and into his arms.

His strong, powerful arms. Holding me against his broad, rugged chest. I inhale because I can’t help it, tasting that masculine scent at the back of my throat, craving more. My hands curl around his neck and I stare at him like he has the magnetic force of a black hole. I can’t look away.

“Beth,” he growls, as we near the door. “You need to quit lookin’ at me like that.”

I blink, but don’t look away. “Like what?”

---