Page 45 of Surly Sheriff
The devastation in Rae’s eyes at the woman’s words had cut him, but finding her on that swing, dark streaks of tears mingled with smeared makeup on her cheeks, had gutted him. He wanted to be on hand to comfort her in case that hurt surfaced and ensure she didn’t pack up and leave during the night. He was holding her to her promise. And yes, a part of him worried they were moving too fast, but dammit, there was no time to waste.
He tidied up while Kismet explored the small garden for the last time tonight. Once the dog returned indoors, Beau locked up and strode down the hallway to join Rae.
The bedroom was empty, but the sound of running water reached him. She was showering. His dick kicked into action, the vision of a naked Rae filling his mind. He walked farther into the room.
The bed was still made, a mountain of cushions covering the top half. The condoms lay on the nightstand closest to him. But despite his intention to forge ahead and claim her, he hesitated. Should he undress, turn down the bedding and wait in bed for her? Or—
Whoa. Wait a minute.
He stopped dead in his tracks, fisted his hands on his hips, and stared hard at the carpet beneath his feet.
Claim her?Fuck. Where’s your mind at, Stirling?
This wasn’t some Victorian era romance novel like his sister stocked on her shelves where the hero swoops in and delivers the heroine from harm. This was real life in the twenty-first century.
Men don’tclaimwomen.
But he wanted to. Badly.
Whoosh.
The bathroom door opened. Beau lifted his head.
Rae emerged in a billow of steam.
His heart skipped a beat. He sucked in a breath. And when his life-giving organ kicked back in, it thumped hard against his ribs. Clad in a yellow and grey polka dot tank top and snug grey cotton shorts, she looked so good. Glowing skin, big eyes, rosy cheeks, plump lips. It was incomprehensible to him that she hid all her natural beauty beneath layers of makeup.
“Hey,” she said, all breathy and soft, stopping midway between the door and him.
“Hi,” he croaked.
“So,” she started, then stopped, rubbing her hands together, her eyes darting around the room. “Uh, we” — she pulled in a breath — “rather,youdon’t have—”
“Shh,” he said, and closed the distance, stopping so close, their toes touched. He lifted his arm and smoothed a finger over her cheek. So silky. And he marveled at the scattering of freckles beneath her left eye and traced over the golden flecks. “How do you feel about a man claiming a woman?”
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head back a fraction to look at him. “Huh?”
He caught a stray lock of hair, tucked it behind her ear, and settled his palm up against her neck. Her pulse thumped against the base of his hand. “I’m a moment away from making you mine. In other words,” he whispered, “claiming you.” His fingers tunneled into her damp hair at her nape, cradling the back of her neck.
Rae’s eyes widened and her jaw slackened. She blinked once, twice, and exhaled. Her lips curved into a smile. “I’d very much like you to claim me,” she whispered back, her breath minty fresh as it drifted between them. And at that moment, he didn’t care that she liked anchovies on her pizza. Hell, he’d buy her bottles of the stuff if it made her happy.
Beau shifted forward, their bodies and lips a hairsbreadth apart.
She closed the final distance, pressing her lips to his.
Pressing her body to his.
Ah. Yeees. She felt good. So fucking good.
He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her even closer.
She slid her arms around his neck.
The heat of her mouth set his blood on fire and the warmth of her skin scorched through his shirt. His heart beat so hard, it eclipsed Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight.”
But he wanted more. So much more.
He wanted skin on skin.
