Page 15 of Frosty in Flannel
I shrugged my shoulder, feeling anything but calm. But that jumpy feeling was because of Beckett, not Wildfire. “All part of the job.”
“A part I damn well don’t like.”
The frustration of not being able to tell this stubborn man what I was feeling rose to the surface. Sometimes, Wildfire understood more than him. “Now, look here. This is my job and some wanna be cowboy is not going to tell me—”
My words were cut off as he pulled me into his arms. He caught my mouth like a man falling and trusting me to catch him. No hesitation. No apology. Heat detonated under my skin. I rose onto my toes and grabbed handfuls of him—shoulders, t-shirt, the back of his neck.
This kiss wasn’t like the first. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was hungry, wild, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for days and couldn’t anymore.
I gasped, and he took advantage, tongue sliding deep, hand fisting in my hair to hold me exactly where he wanted me. My knees buckled, and he caught me, pressing me against the rail as if he needed me pinned, claimed.
His thigh slid between mine, bracing me open. I gasped and he swallowed it, kissing me deeper, longer, like he wanted to memorize the sound. One big hand skimmed under my shirt and found bare skin at my waist. I’d always hated being touched there, but not with Beckett. I wanted him to feel my curves. Want my curves.
Damn it, I thought. I wanted him to love me.
I shivered so hard he swore and pressed closer, chest to chest, everything to everything. The rail dug into my back but I didn’t care. The sky grumbled. Somewhere a door banged.
“Beckett—” I broke for air and he chased me, catching my lower lip between his teeth, releasing it with a groan that went straight between my legs.
“Say my name again,” he ordered, voice gone dark.
“Beckett.”
“Again.”
“Beckett.”
Then another long, hard, desperate kiss before he was pulling away, turning away. And walking out of the pen without a backward glance. I stood there, fingers to my mouth. I wasn’t certain what had just happened, but I knew one thing for certain. Beckett wanted me.
And, heaven help me, I wanted him.
Chapter Six
Beckett
I didn’t plan on going to her cabin that night.
Hell, I tried not to. Poured myself into every chore I could find, stacked hay in the dark, swept a barn aisle that didn’t need sweeping. Anything to burn off the itch crawling under my skin. Anything to stop thinking about the way Libby had looked at me like I wasn’t a mistake she was making, but a choice she’d already made.
But when the storm finally broke and rain started hitting the tin roof of my cabin, I found myself walking the short distance to hers, standing outside her door, soaked and pissed at myself for giving in.
And still wanting to be wanted.
I knocked once.
The door opened like she’d been waiting.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask what I was doing there.
She just looked at me, her expression soft and steady, like she already knew what I needed. And that she needed the same thing.
I stepped inside without a word. My boots left wet tracks on the wood floor, the air thick with the scent of something floral I couldn’t name but knew was her.
She stood there barefoot in an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her nipples stuck out, hard peaks beneath the softcotton. My cock responded to her instantly. Hardening beneath my jeans. Wanting her. Needing her.
“Tell me to leave,” I said, voice almost a growl.
She took one slow step forward. “No.”
