Page 23 of Hawt Cowboy
“Technically,” I say, tossing my hat onto the chair, “it’s big enough to count as two.”
She shoots me a look. “That’s not how math works, Dalton.”
I chuckle and walk to the window. The view’s even better from here — the pasture bathed in moonlight, a soft wind brushing the grass. Behind me, I hear her exhale, tired and definitely a little tipsy.
“Beautiful night,” I say. She doesn’t answer, but when I glance back, she’s at the foot of the bed, tracing the edge of the quilt with her fingers.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “It really is.”
I step closer. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she says firm and too fast. “Just … thinking.”
“About what?”
She looks up, meeting my eyes. “About how pretending is getting complicated.”
That one hits me square in the chest. I move another step closer, slow, giving her space still, but wanting this conversation.
“Maybe that’s because it’s not pretend anymore,” I say softly.
Her breath catches. “Cash …”
“Yeah?”
Her lips part like she’s going to say something, but instead she just shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “We shouldn’t.”
I smile. “Probably not.”
I’m mesmerized by the way the firelight dances in her eyes. Taking a few more steps toward her, I make sure they’re slow and deliberate. I stop a breath away. “Savvy …”
She holds her ground, chin up even though I can see the tremble in her hands. “You’re going to make me talk about this thing … these unspoken feelings, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Only if you want to.”
She studies my face. “You really want to hear it?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I really do.”
Savannah takes a shaky breath and I can see her fighting herself, every muscle in her body tense like she’s about to bolt.
“I’m scared as hell, Cash. I don’t do things like this. I don’t …” She stops, cheeks streaked pink, and tries again. “I don’t let people close, not anymore. Not since …”
Savannah shakes her head, eyes threatening to tear. “You’re not supposed to be the exception.”
She huffs a laugh, then blinks fast, like she’s just realized she let the words out. “God, I’m a mess.”
My voice feels thick with everything I locked inside myself since I first laid eyes on her. “Why can’t I be? I’ve never wanted to take care of someone this much in my life. That scares me more than the eight-second buzzer ever could.”
I touch her wrist, thumb brushing the bracelet. “You don’t have to keep up all those walls all the time, especially with me.” The words come out softer than I’ve ever said anything in my damn life. “You can even be a mess. I kinda’ like you that way.”
I mean it. I can’t even hide it. She looks up, meets my eyes, and it’s like all the bullshit between us, all the games melts out of the room. It’s just us, standing so close the air could catch fire. For once, I don’t reach for a joke or a line. I just reach for her.
Her lips are soft and uncertain at first, like she can’t quite believe it’s real. Then her hands slide up my shoulders, andwhen I pull her in there’s nothing in the world but the taste of her mouth and the warm, desperate thump of her heart against mine.
She kisses like she argues — all in, no half-measures, every ounce of control surrendered to the moment. Her hands find my jaw, my hair, then my arms, and it’s all I can do not to press her back against the soft edge of the bed and lose myself completely.
But I slow down, just enough, because this isn’t a bar or a parking lot. This is her, and it’s me, and we’re both not completely sober, yet wild for it.
