Page 19 of Claimed By the Cowboy
She doesn’t pull away.
Our mouths meet in a kiss that starts gentle—hesitant, questioning—but deepens almost instantly, hunger rising like a tide. Her hands curl into my shirt, and I lose myself in the taste of her, the warmth, the softness, the ache I’ve been trying not to feel since the second I saw her. My hands tighten on her waist. She’s so small in my arms, so perfectly made to fit against me.
The world blurs around us. The only things that exist are her and this kiss that feels like the beginning of everything and the end of any chance I had at pretending I don’t want her.
When we finally break apart, her lips are swollen, her breath coming fast. She stares up at me like I’ve just rewritten all her rules.
Silence stretches between us, crackling with what we’ve done.
But neither of us moves. Neither of us says sorry. Because we’re already in too deep.
A crash from above makes us both jump. I look up in time to see Cheese Puff's distinctive silhouette on the barn roof, directly above the paint supplies.
“Oh, shit.”
The goat—who has somehow escaped her pen (again) and climbed onto the roof—leans over the edge with obvious interest in our project.
“Cheese Puff, no!” I shout.
Too late.
The paint can Kitty left balanced on the ladder wobbles precariously, then falls. Sage green paint cascades down like a waterfall. I lunge toward Kitty, wrapping my arms around her and spinning us both away from the worst of it, but there’s nowhere to go. Paint splashes over both of us, coating my shirt and her hair inthick, green streaks.
We stand there dripping, me holding her tight against my chest, both of us staring at each other in shock.
She’s pressed full against me, soft curves molded to my body, her hands fisted in my shirt. Her face is tilted up to mine, paint-streaked and beautiful, lips parted in surprise.
Then… she laughs.
Not the polite chuckle of someone trying to make the best of a bad situation. Real laughter, bright and unrestrained, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her chest. The sound is so unexpected, so joyful, that I can’t help but join in.
“I must look like Fiona from Shrek,” she gasps, wiping paint from her cheek and only succeeding in spreading it further.
“You’re way cuter than Fiona,” I say, grinning. “But I guess that makes me a burping, farting ogre?”
Kitty snorts. “Perfect. True love’s kissanddigestive issues? Sign me up.”
A beat passes.
Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t meansign me up,sign me up. Just… ugh. Ignore me. Paint fumes. Goat trauma. Temporary loss of brain function.”
As our eyes lock, our laughter fades, replaced by something softer, more dangerous.
I should let her go. Tell her this was a mistake.
But instead, I brush a streak of green from her temple and tuck her sticky hair behind her ear.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods, but her voice is a whisper when she asks, “You?”
I gave Delaney my word, and out here, that means something. It's the difference between trust and betrayal.
Doesn’t matter that Kitty looks at me like I’ve lassoed the moon. Doesn’t matter that everything in me howled with rightness the second our lips met.
I made a promise. And I don’t break promises.
Even if keepingthis one breaks me.
