Page 71 of Playing With My Heart Strings

He hums in agreement. “That’s true, Baylor. Itshouldn’tmatter what other people think.” He repeats my statement, andhe’s gotten his point across. It’s about time I start taking my own advice.

We finish the remainder of the ride in comfortable silence, hooves against dirt and soft huffs from the horses as our soundtrack. When we step out of the woods, we’re not in the same clearing where we started. Instead, next to a couple small posts to tie up the horses, is a small hot tub and a few small panels to change in privacy.

“Thought we could rest our muscles here for a bit before heading back,” Dusty explains as he brings Petunia up next to Biscuit. “Give the horses a break, too. There should be a swimsuit for you behind the panels.” He dismounts and ties up Petunia before approaching Biscuit, on the side where I would dismount, and offering his hand for me to grab.

This time, I take him up on his offer as I slide off the saddle. He’s already tying up Biscuit, so I take the opportunity to step behind the privacy panels. Just as Dusty suggested, there’s a swimsuit hanging inside for me. I change quickly, noting how modest the suit is, unlike other dating shows where the bikinis leave little to the imagination.

Still, I have to resist the urge to cover myself up when I step back out. It’s not like Dusty hasn’t seen every inch of my body. But people on the Internet haven’t, and people on the Internet aremean. I don’t want to leave this social-media-free bubble just to find trolls critiquing my body.

My insecurities don’t last long, though, because moments later, Dusty steps out and rakes his eyes over my body like he wants to store the image of me in his brain forever.

“You are a vision.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second, and I’m filled with gratitude over the small boost to my confidence.

“Oh, this old thing? Practically rags,” I tease, doing a spin.

“You could wear a potato sack or a garbage bag and I’d still think you look beautiful.” He gestures to the hot tub. “Ladies first.”

I climb the small steps and gingerly dip a toe into the water before lowering my body inside. I don’t think I realized how tense I was. I practically groan from the warmth enveloping and soothing my muscles.

Dusty slides in next to me, his reaction to the jets similar to mine. The tub is just big enough for the two of us, and our legs brush if we move too much.

He gently squeezes my thigh, giving me a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”

Content. But also like I want you all to myself.

“I didn’t think I’d feel so…relaxed this late in the process. I mean, we’re down to the final four. I assumed I’d be more stressed,” I admit then let out a shallow laugh. “Then again, I wasn’t sure I’d make it this far.”

“Really? What makes you think that?” His gaze is filled with curiosity.

Besides the obvious? The fact that I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place?

I shrug. “I don’t know, there were just so many other talented women. I never expected Aspen would be gone already.”

He tenses at the mention of Aspen, which, same. But his reaction only piques my interest, and I raise a brow.

Dusty just takes my hand, rubbing circles across my knuckle. “I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to think about the possibility of leaving. I like you a lot.”

“I like you, too,” I whisper.Maybe a bit too much.

As much as I try to push it away, anxiety bubbles up in my stomach and uncertainty gnaws at me. Would he still like me as much if he found out who I am? What Iactuallydo for work? If he found out the real reason why I’m on the show is not becauseI’m an aspiring musician who was also looking for love, but because I was forced to join to save my career?

“What’s going through that pretty mind of yours?” Dusty’s soft voice brings me back to the moment.

“Nothing,” I lie. It’s easier than explaining what’s really going on. To prevent him from asking questions, I maneuver myself so I’m straddling his legs. His eyes widen in surprise but then darken as lust creeps into his features. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips before he places his hands on my waist, tugging me closer.

Warm breath tickles my face as my eyes trail from his down to his lips and back up again. Then, in a split second, his lips are on mine, stubble tickling my chin. The kiss is slow, sensual, unhurried. These kisses are my favorite, because they remind me that, although time is ticking on our relationship with only three weeks remaining until the final decision, we don’t need to rush. We’re allowed to savor each other, savor the moments we have together, because that’s what makes the time we do have together special. These types of kisses are like my own reminder to slow down and appreciate the man before me.

My hips grind against his, creating delicious friction between us. His fingers dig into my skin, hard enough that I’m confident I’ll wake up with tiny bruises in the morning.

With a strained groan, he breaks the kiss, despite the small protesting noise that escapes my lips. His mouth moves along my jawline, and I hope the microphone isn’t sensitive enough to pick up what he whispers in my ear, because it’s enough to make heat rise to my cheeks and desire pool between my legs. Combine his filthy mouth with how dangerously close his fingers are to the strings on my swimsuit bottoms, we’re about five seconds away from making an X-rated film instead of a reality TV show. The awareness of the cameras is enough for me to slide off his lap back onto the wooden seat.

“Give me a few minutes then we can head back.” He chuckles as he discreetly adjusts himself under the water. Then he leans in close again to whisper, “I just can’t get enough of you. If the cameras weren’t here, there’s no telling the things I would be doing to you. Later.”

I mumble back jokingly, “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

28

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