Page 8 of Wrong Number Right Cowboy
I summon the last of my willpower and anger, narrowing gaze at him. “You just want me to admit I made a mistake.”
“Because youdid, Sunshine.”
“I—”
His lips crash to mine.
There’s no shock.
No urge to shove him away.
Only muscle memory as I sink into the urgency of his kiss. My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue pushes at the seam of my mouth, demanding entry. I surrender, as I always have with Boone. I’m not just safe—I’mhome.
My hands slide up the side of his neck as my body arches against his.
He grips my ass with both hands, and I let out a whimper.
I want him.
Ineedhim.
I reach my hand between his legs, cupping his erection, and give it a squeeze.
Boone groans against my lips before pushing off the truck, separating us.
“See?” he says, his tone almost as smug as his fucking smirk. “Youdostill love me.”
“I fucking hate you,” I fire back, hating how exposed I feel. Was this all some cruel trick intended to get even with me for leaving him?
“No, you don’t.”
Fire burns in my veins, both from anger and the passion of that savage kiss. I hate that it makes me want to jump him. I march up to him, poking a finger at his chest. “As soon as this storm lets up, I’m fuckinggone.”
“Why wait?” he shoots back, ice in his gaze now. “I’ll get you a life raft. You can float to the other side of the road and call in your fucking rescue. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your fancy city life.”
Anger is the only thing keeping me from a full-fledged breakdown. Once upon a time, Boone was the person I confided in, even when my truths were ugly. How many nights had my finger hovered over his name on my phone screen because I wanted to call him and tell him that myfancy city lifefucking sucked?
How many times had I yearned to tell him I wanted to come home?
“I hate you,” I said again, as though proclaiming it a second time would make it more true.
“Fuck, get in the truck.”
“What? Why would I?—”
“Sawyer, get in the damn truck.” His entire demeanor changes, from smug to concerned. I follow the path of his gaze, catching something black in the distance. A cow? But why is she all alone in a storm? Where are the other cows?
“Is she stuck?”
“Maybe. We have to check on her.” He yanks open the passenger door and practically tosses me. As though I weigh nothing. Damn this man. Damn this storm for stranding us together. As much as I want to hate him, I don’t think I can.
Fuck, I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
6
BOONE
