Page 28 of When the Storm Breaks
“Why?”
“It was a spectacle. Went against everything I believed in. Using horses for entertainment. I hated that I wore spurs. They’re dull, not sharp but that’s not the point. To get a good ride in, to score high, you have to mark out the horse as it leaves the chute. Dig your spurs into their shoulders,” I explained.
“So why did you do it?”
“Money. The rush of adrenaline. The cheers of the crowd,” I admitted. At the time, I’d needed that kind of validation, but it wasn’t something I’d readily admit. “I walked away a couple years ago. Lost my appetite for it. Just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“But you still feel guilty that you loved it.”
“A part of me does, yeah.”
Her gaze roamed down my body before it returned to my face. “I bet you were good at it.”
“One of the best.”
“Humble too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with admitting when you’re good at something.”
She added more chicken stock to the pot and continued stirring the rice with her wooden spoon. If I’d been hungry before, I was practically salivating now.
“What made you walk away?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t one of the best anymore.”
“So you liked the glory?”
“Loved it. And I’m a bad loser.”
She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm, reminding me that this girl was slaving over a hot stove for me.
“Why don’t you have the air con on?”
“I grew up in the deep South in a house with no air conditioning. I don’t mind sweating. In fact, I kind of like it.”
I tossed our empties in the recycling bin and grabbed two more cold beers from the fridge. Flipping the caps off on the edge of the counter, I pressed the cold bottle against her flushed cheek. She moaned, the sound shooting straight to my dick.
“That feels so good.” She took the beer from my hand and held it to her forehead then clinked her bottle against mine. “Here’s to new beginnings and knowing when it’s time to walk away,” she said, and I got the feeling she wasn’t talking about her music career.
We drank to that and I watched her throat bob on a swallow, trying my damnedest not to think of all the things I wanted to do to her. When she lowered her bottle, her eyes locked onto mine. I moved closer and brushed the backs of my fingers along her jawline, noting the way her breath hitched at my touch.
“Brody,” she whispered, looking up at me from beneath her lashes.
“Hmm?”
She leaned into me, her tits pressed against my chest and I set my beer on the counter and wrapped my hand around the back of her head. Her full lips parted on a sigh as my other hand coasted down her side and settled on her hip.
Her smoky grays were at half-mast and she exhaled a shuddering breath. “It’s been so long.”
“Since what?” My thumb brushed the soft skin just above the waistband of her shorts.
“Since someone made me feel like I would die if they didn’t kiss me.”
She tipped her face up to mine. She was so fucking beautiful, and I had that same feeling I did the night we met. Like I’d been waiting all my life for her without even realizing it. “You want me to kiss you, Shiloh?”
“Do you need an invitation? What are you waiting for, Cowboy?”
My eyes lowered to her full, pillow-soft lips. She tugged her bottom lip between her straight white teeth and I didn’t know if it was a calculated move or not, but my dick got harder. “Whatever happened to being just friends?”
