Page 14 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
Thorn has officially broken me.
“Nice to meet you. I’d like to give you a quick rundown of what I’m thinking about the pictures.”
“Absolutely.” The confident cowboy pulls off his T-shirt in one swoop over his head. His muscles flex in ways I didn’t know a man’s muscles could move.
My sister bolts out of the chair. “Do you need me to oil you down?” She opens the lid of a cute homemade bottle of lavender oil with playful purple writing from a local shop downtown.
The cowboy chuckles. “I ain’t opposed if that’s the look you want?” He slides his questioning gaze at me.
He’s flirting with me. Is he flirting with me?
“Yes. Smother the oil so the muscles pop for the photos.” Mayor Thomas pushes my sister toward the cowboy. “Five minutes to go!” His megaphone rings in my ear.
“Sure.” I clear my throat. “I mean, yes. The shinier, the better. For the overall project.”
My sister squirts a dollop of oil in her palm, and without asking, she smears it over the cowboy’s rock-hard abs.
“Oh my. These are solid.” Her hands linger over each spot she massages.
“There’ll be no need for that.” Just the sound of Thorn’s gruff voice behind me makes my heart flutter. “This corner is taken, Kyle.” He spits out his name.
A rush of awareness pulses through me as he steps around me—his freshly showered scent, relaxed body, confident strut, and the weight of his gaze on me.
He positions himself between me and his replacement. His cool stare pierces me, and an invisible force keeps me from looking away.
“Git your shirt off,” Mayor Thomas barks, wiping a plaid handkerchief over the sweat dripping down his brows.
Thorn executes the order, peeling away his shirt with absolute precision. Underneath the material is the sculpted torso of a god. Poor, whatever-his-name-is doesn’t have anything on this cowboy’s broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and sharp curves of his biceps.
My eyes roam hungrily along the dips and grooves, tapering down to a V that disappears tantalizingly into the waistband of his low-hung jeans.
This time, my mouth goes dry, and a dizzying mix of excitement spreads through me—including warmth pooling between my legs.
“Moving along.” Mayor Thomas’ piercing snap of his fingers also snaps my eyes back to Thorn’s eyes.
He’s waiting for me, as he claims he’s been doing since I left. I’d believe him if I were the same girl I was back then. I’d sneak out of the public eye to spend the day with him. But I’m not that naive girl. I know who the real Thorn is.
“Dani, you’re oiling the wrong cowboy.” The mayor points at Thorn. “Three minutes to go!”
“Ew. Gross.” Dani’s nose scrunches in that disgusted way she’s perfected. “Flora can do him.”
The way she says it has me blushing as red as cranberries in a holiday salad.
“I, um—” My stutter is plain sad.
“I got it.” Thorn takes the oil from my sister and uncaps it. How does even that little move make me hotter than a summer day by the creek?
The lighting catches the golden liquid as he pours it into his large hand. The muscles of his arms flex effortlessly as he slathers it over his sun-kissed skin. And the way his fingers glide is hypnotic. Each stroke is deliberate and slow. He focuses on his taut abdomen. His muscles flex and ripple under the caress of the oil.
I curse my heart for thrumming in time with his rhythmic movements.
“Care to lend a hand?” His deep and inviting tease ignites a fire within me.
“I think you’ve got it covered.”
“Is that our Santa chair?” Mayor Thomas huffs over to the chair before spinning back to us. “Who took this? It was you, wasn’t it?” The mayor points the megaphone at Thorn. “You stole the antique chair—”
“Hang on, now. I didn’t steal nothin’.” Thorn’s tone is calm.
