Page 9 of Dirty-Talking Cowboy
I turned, walking back to the horses and tripped, dropping the tools to the ground. Before I could fall to the ground and make a complete idiot of myself, Rhett caught me, one arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. For a second, we just stood there, my back pressed to his front, his arm solid and strong around my middle.
I could feel every inch of where we touched. Could feel how broad his chest was, how much bigger he was than me, how his hand had automatically spread wide across my stomach. And I could feel, with absolutely mortifying clarity, exactly where my body was soft, where I had extra curves that pressed against him.
“Careful,” he murmured, his mouth close to my ear. “Ground’s uneven here.”
“I noticed.” My voice came out breathless, and I tried to step away, but his arm tightened slightly.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, I just—” I needed him to let go before I died of embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t let go. Instead, his hand flexed against my stomach, fingers pressing in just slightly, and I heard him make a low sound in his chest that might have been approval or satisfaction or something else entirely.
“Rhett—”
“I meant what I said earlier.” His voice was low, vibrating through me. “About liking the way you feel. In case you were still wondering.”
I wasn’t wondering. I was dying. My whole body was on fire, and I couldn’t think straight with him touching me like this, with his arm around me and his chest pressed to my back and his breath warm against my ear.
“You don’t have to keep saying that,” I managed.
“Why not? It’s true.” His hand slid slightly lower, his thumb stroking along the curve of my hip through the denim. “You feel good, Maggie. Soft and warm and exactly how a woman should feel.”
“I’m not—” I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. That I wasn’t what he usually went for? That I wasn’t the kind of woman men like him wanted? That I’d spent my whole life being told I was too much, too big, taking up too much space?
“You’re not what?” he prompted, and there was an edge in his voice now. Almost challenging.
“I’m not... small. Or skinny. Or—”
“Thank fuck for that.” He turned me in his arms, keeping me close, one hand still on my waist while the other came up to tilt my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You think I want some skinny little thing I’d be afraid to touch? Some woman who’d break if I wasn’t careful?”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
“I want a real woman, Maggie. I want someone I can hold onto, someone with curves I can grip when I—” He stoppedhimself, jaw clenching. “I’m not a gentle man. Never have been. I like things a certain way, and I don’t apologize for it. So when I tell you I like your body, I mean every damn word.”
“I don’t... I’ve never...” God, why couldn’t I form complete sentences around him?
His expression softened slightly, and his thumb brushed across my cheek. “You’ve never what?”
“Had anyone say that before,” I admitted quietly. “Look at me the way you do. Like I’m—” I couldn’t finish. Like I was something worth wanting. Like I was desirable. Like my curves were an asset instead of something to overlook.
“Then every man you’ve known before me was a damn fool.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And if they made you feel like you were anything less than gorgeous, they didn’t deserve to touch you in the first place.”
My throat went tight. I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let myself think that maybe, possibly, he actually meant what he was saying. But a lifetime of feeling too big, too much, too different—that didn’t just disappear because one hot cowboy said nice things.
“You don’t know me,” I said, trying to hold onto some shred of self-protection. “You met me two days ago. You can’t—”
“I know enough.” His hand slid from my waist to my hip, then around to the small of my back, pulling me closer. “I know you’ve got fire. I know you don’t back down even when you’re scared. I know you feel perfect pressed up against me like this. And I know I want to kiss you so damn bad right now that it’s taking everything I’ve got not to.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, and the heat in his gaze made me dizzy. “I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday. Since the second I saw you standing there with thatattitude and those curves and that smart mouth just begging to be kissed quiet.”
“I don’t—” But I couldn’t finish the protest, because it would be a lie. I wanted him to kiss me. Wanted it so much I was shaking with it.
“Tell me no,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll back off. But if you don’t say it in the next three seconds, I’m going to take that as a yes.”
I should have said no. Should have told him this was crazy, that we barely knew each other, that this was moving too fast. But I couldn’t make the word come out. Could only stare up at him, my whole body humming with anticipation and need and something I’d never felt before.
