Page 84 of My Cowboy Trouble
What can I say? She's just following my lead.
Except... when I look at her, really look at her, I don't see satisfaction. I see something that might be hurt. Confusion. Like she's trying to figure out what's happening between Asher and me, what all the subtext means.
"Kenzie," I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "You're with me today. Cattle need moving."
She straightens, and for a second, I think she's going to argue. Tell me she'd rather stay with Asher and his easy charm and his complete lack of emotional complications. Tell me she's done with my hot-and-cold bullshit and ready to move on to someone who knows what he wants.
But then she nods, setting down the brush with careful precision.
"Sure thing, boss."
The way she says “boss” sends heat straight to my cock, and I have to turn away before she notices. Because the last thing I need is her knowing that twenty-four hours after walking away from her, I'm already thinking about bending her over the nearest flat surface and proving that whatever she did with Asher yesterday, it doesn't compare to what we have.
Had. What we had.
"Let's go," I mutter, heading for the door before I do something stupid like ask her outright if she slept with Asher. Before I demand to know if she's already forgotten how I made her come, how she clawed at my arms and begged for more.
"Have fun, you two," Asher calls after us, and the amusement in his voice makes me want to turn around and wipe it off his face. "Try not to work too hard."
But I don't. Because I'm the responsible one. The controlled one. The one who makes smart decisions and doesn't let his dick do his thinking for him.
Even if every smart decision I've made in the past twenty-four hours has felt like the stupidest thing I've ever done.
"Trent?"
Kenzie's voice stops me at the barn door. When I turn, she's standing in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the windows, and she looks so beautiful, it actually hurts to look at her. The flannel shirt—my shirt—is too big, hanging off one shoulder, and herskin is already tanned from days in the sun. She looks like she belongs here, like she's always belonged here, and that makes this whole situation a thousand times worse.
"You okay? You seem... tense."
Tense. That's one way to put it. I'm wound so tight I'm about to snap, caught between wanting to shake her for being so casual about things and wanting to kiss her until she remembers why she was screaming my name in the tack room.
"I'm fine. Let's get those cattle moved."
She studies my face for a moment, and I can see her trying to read me. Trying to figure out what's going on in my head. Good luck with that, sweetheart. I can't even figure it out myself.
"Okay," she says finally, but there's something in her voice. Disappointment, maybe. Or resignation. "Whatever you say, boss."
There's that word again, and this time, she definitely knows what she's doing. The slight emphasis, the way her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip—she's testing me. Pushing me. Seeing how far she can go before I crack and admit that walking away from her was the biggest mistake of my life.
She has no idea how close to the edge I already am.
We're halfwayto the south pasture, riding in tense silence, when the thunder of hoofbeats makes me look up. Gavin appears on Whiskey, riding hard with that reckless abandon that's going to get him killed someday. The man has no sense of self-preservation, never has.
He pulls up alongside us with his trademark grin, Whiskey prancing and snorting from the hard ride. "Mind if I join the party?"
"We're working, not partying," I say, but Gavin's already looking at Kenzie with that calculating expression that means trouble.
"You know what your problem is, princess?" he says to her, ignoring me completely. "You're riding that old mare like you're going to a funeral. When's the last time you really felt alive on a horse?"
"How about never? For cripes' sake, Gavin, I'm still learning the basics," Kenzie says, but I can see the interest in her eyes. Gavin's always been good at reading people, knowing exactly what buttons to push.
"Basics are boring. You want to feel what it's really like to ride?" He pats Whiskey's neck. "This boy's got speed and spirit. Just like his rider."
"Absolutely not," I cut in. "She's not ready for that."
"How do you know what she's ready for?" Gavin challenges, his eyes meeting mine. "Maybe you're not giving her enough credit."
"Maybe you're being reckless, as usual."
