Page 24 of Ride Me Cowboy

He throws me a look of impatience as he shoulders in the door and keeps striding through the house. My heart is racing.

Outside my room, he eases me to my feet. “You right now?”

“How was I looking at you, Cowboy?” I ask, knowing the wine is making me act in a way I never usually would, but totally unable to stop.

“Like you’re wanting to start something with me. Something we both know is about as dumb as it gets.”

I press my back against the closed bedroom door, eyes hooked up to his. Way up. Because even in heels, he’s inches taller than me.

“Why’s it dumb?” I ask, but the sober version of me, buried waaaay down beneath the Chardonnay, is shouting a laundry list of reasons I choose not to hear. Suddenly, the fact that the last man to kiss me was Christopher makes it hard to breathe. I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be kissed by Cole. Would he taste as good as he looks? Would he be gentle or rough, slow or fast?

“For about a million reasons,” he says.

But I don’t want him to listen to his reasons any more than I’m listening to mine. I lift up onto the tips of my toes and wrap my arms around his neck—something I would never even think of doing, if it weren’t for the wine.

“Name one, I’ll wait,” I offer, but before he can speak, I brush my lips over his in an invitation. A desperate plea. I want Christopher’s place in my life to be erased, starting now. Starting with Cole. I want to move on, to throw Christopher where he belongs, in the rear-view mirror. I want to reclaim my power, my autonomy, to be the boss of my life, starting with this moment, right here.

“Beth,” his voice holds a warning, but I don’t heed it. I brush his lips again and feel his body tighten, like he’s bracing for something. His big, strong body. He pushes forward a little, so my back’s against the door and he’s sort of supporting me there, and I hold my breath, waiting, desperately needing for him to kiss me back.

He jerks his head from mine and stares into my eyes, as though he’s fighting a battle within himself or something, and then, he lifts a hand to caress my cheek, so I shiver at the strange intimacy of that. Such a simple gesture only it feels anything but.

“Go to sleep, Beth.” And he leans down to press a single, swift kiss to my forehead before turning and stalking away, all sexy, cowboy, ‘can’t touch this’ swagger.

Chapter Eight

Beth

IT’S NOT MY FIRST ever hangover but it’s my first official run in with hangxiety, and I can’t say I recommend it. From the minute I woke up this morning with a furry taste in my mouth and a persistent banging in my temples, I’ve felt off. That definitely didn’t ease when I got out of bed, saw the door to my room, and remembered.Everything.The way I’d looked at Cole. Talked to him. Begged him to kiss me.

Ohmygod. The wayI’dkissedhim.

The way he’d looked at me with—I’m sure I’m remembering correctly—something like pity, before turning and walking away. And probably gone back to the bar to hook up with some girl who’s more his type. Someone who talks his talk and walks his walk, not a blow-in from New York who’s never even been on a horse before.

I couldn’t stop shame-groaning as I showered and fresh memories assailed me, or the same memory on repeat, mortifying me to the point of curling my toes.

I’d walked into the kitchen to grab a juice—all I could stomach—terrified of seeing Cole again, but at the same time, partly thinking it was better to just get it over with.

Except the only person in the kitchen when I do my walk of shame to the fridge is a curvaceous redhead I vaguely remember seeing the night before. It takes me a second (because my brain is post-Chardonnay) to recognize her as the woman who was dancing with Beau.

“Mornin’,” she says, way too loud, way too bright. At her feet, Boots startles a little, makes a deep breathy sound then settles back to sleep. The woman reaches down and pats between his ears, then straightens and fixes me with a glance. “I thought I was the only one these boys brought home last night.”

I frown, trying to unpack her meaning.

“Oh, me and Beau have a bit of a thang,” she explains in a drawl.

“You do?” I think of his shameless flirting and frown, because I don’t have him down as the kind of guy who’d be unfaithful. He seems too decent for that. Then again, looks, and first impressions, can be deceiving. Don’t I know it.

“Not like a thang thang, more…we’re friends. And sometimes more.” She smiles. “Coffee?”

I shake my head but then change my mind. It’ll probably help blow out the cobwebs. “Sure.”

“So, you here with Austin? Or Cole?”

“I work here,” I blurt out, unable to bear the thought of this woman laboring under the misapprehension that anything happened between the oldest Donovan brother and me. If it had been up to me, of course, it might be a different story, but Cole was a perfect gentleman. “He was just looking out for me.”

“That’s our boy Cole,” she says with a wink. “And here I thought you might have been the one to break his dry spell.”

Ihatemyself for asking, obviously, but how can I not? “Dry spell?”

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