Page 80 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Kiss me."
For a moment,he doesn't move. Just stares at me with those intense gray eyes like he's fighting some internal battle between what he wants and what he thinks he should do. I can practically see the war exploding behind his eyes—desire versus control, want versus responsibility.
Then something shifts. Some decision is made. The careful control he maintains so rigidly cracks, and suddenly he's not the responsible ranch manager anymore. He's just a man who wants a woman, and he's done pretending otherwise.
The kiss starts slow. Deliberate. His lips are softer than I expected, gentler than his rough hands and hard exterior would suggest. He tastes like coffee and morning and something uniquely him that makes me want to climb inside his skin.
But gentle doesn't last long.
The moment I respond, the moment I part my lips and let him in, something in him snaps. His hands tighten on my face, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss, and suddenly I'm being devoured. It's like every ounce of restraint he's shown for the past two weeks is unleashed at once, and I'm the willing victim of his control finally breaking.
"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth, and hearing him curse sends heat straight to my core. Trent doesn't usually curse. He’s measured and controlled and appropriate at all times. But this version of him, the one backing me against the tack room wall withdesperate hands and a hungry mouth, is none of those things.
"Been wanting to do this again," he says between kisses, his voice rough and raw. "Since that night after the rodeo."
"Then why haven’t you?" I tug at his shirt, needing to feel skin. "Why have you been waiting?"
"Because you're leaving. Because this is temporary. Because I don't do temporary." His hands find the hem of my tank top, sliding underneath to find bare skin. "Because you scare the hell out of me."
"I scare you?" I laugh, breathless and disbelieving. "I'm the one who should be scared. You're looking at me like you want to eat me alive."
"I do." His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear. "I want to taste every inch of you. Want to make you forget every man who came before me."
"Confident much?" But my voice shakes because his hands are working magic under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns on my skin that make me shiver.
"Not confident. Hungry. Starving." He pulls back to look at me, and what I see in his eyes makes my knees weak. Raw want, barely leashed desire, and something that looks like long-neglected need. "I've been going crazy watching you with Gavin and Asher."
"Jealous?" I tease, but there's truth in it. I can see itin the tight line of his jaw, the possessive way his hands grip my waist.
"Insanely." He lifts me onto the workbench, stepping between my legs. "And it's fucked up because I'm the one pushing you away. I'm the one who keeping you at arm's length while they get to have you."
"You have me now." I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "If you want me."
"If I want you?" He laughs, but it's not entirely pleasant. "Kenzie, I want you so bad I can't think straight. Can't sleep. Can't work without remembering what you look like spread out in bed, what you sound like when you come."
The mental image he paints makes me dizzy. "Show me, then."
"Here?"
"Here. Now. I don't care if it's romantic or perfect or appropriate. I just need you to stop thinking and start feeling."
That does it. Whatever remaining control he has evaporates. His mouth crashes into mine, demanding and desperate, while his hands work at the button of my jeans. I'm fumbling with his belt, my fingers clumsy with need, when he suddenly stops.
"Wait." He's breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine. "Are you sure? Because once we do this, once I have you, I'm not going to be able to pretend it didn't happen. I'm not going to be able to go back to treating you like you're temporary."
"Good." I finish with his belt, my hands sliding inside his jeans to find him hard and ready. "I don't want to be temporary anymore."
"Kenzie—"
"Stop talking, Trent.”
He lifts me off the workbench, and for a moment, I think he's changed his mind, that the responsible ranch manager has reasserted control. But then he's turning me around, bending me over the workbench, his body covering mine from behind.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice tight with restraint even as his hands work my jeans down my hips.
"More than okay." I push back against him, feeling his hardness against my ass. "Perfect."
He makes a sound that's part groan, part growl, and then his hands are everywhere—sliding over my thighs, cupping my breasts, finding the wetness between my legs that tells him exactly how much I want this.
