Page 122 of Always Meant for You
A coy smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Then you’ll need to lose your shirt.”
“My shirt?”
She gazes at me through her eyelashes. “We have time.”
We’ve kept our relationship a secret from everyone—especially her father—so we’ve been sneaking around like teenagers. We don’t need people gossiping about us dating. The focus must be on the work.
“I can handle that,” I murmur, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
Her gaze sweeps over me, and the effect is instant. I run my hands down her back, grounding myself in the feel of her. I know her body. Every curve. Every freckle.
Mabel slides her fingers along my torso until her hand lands over my heart. I pull her close and kiss her. It starts soft, but when she presses in, everything shifts. To the outside world, I’msteady and predictable. The quiet one. But with her, that control unravels.
“What do you want me to do to you this fine morning, Miss Muldowney?”
She tilts her head and drags her tongue across her top lip. “I want you, Callan Horner . . .”
I grip her waist, my heart thudding. “Yes?”
“To get a cat.”
I blink. “A what?”
She laughs. “A cat. For the farm porn shoot.”
“Farm porn?” I repeat, stunned.
This conversation is not where I saw this going.
She grabs her phone. “Look at this.” She holds it up.
I squint. “That’s me holding your goat.”
She scrolls down. “Now look at the comments.”
My jaw drops. “Eleven thousand likes? And CougarMomKathy4456 wants me for a whole hour. Yikes!”
Mabel bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
I scroll again. “These women are very enthusiastic.”
“You’re the fantasy,” she says, winking. “The strong, silent farmer. It’s a total online obsession.”
I glance at the tag. #HornyHousewivesLoveHotFarmers. My brows shoot up. “That’s a real hashtag?”
She nods. “Very real.”
I shake my head, torn between shock and amusement. “You’re telling me there’s an entire audience of strangers out there ogling my arms and plotting their escape to Elverna?”
“Something like that.” Mabel rises on her toes and kisses the center of my chest. “They can look all they want. But I’m the one you hold at night.”
“You’re damn right about that.” I cup her jaw, drawn to her mouth like gravity.
When we part, she studies me with an appraising eye. “You’re part of this story, Cal. The farm. The market. The brand. You’re what makes it real.”
“We both are.” I scroll to a picture of us collecting organic eggs. “See,” I say. “You and me and a ton of likes and comments.”
“You’re right. We are,” she agrees.
