Page 24 of Still A Cowboy
The second the door closed, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, deep and certain, like he’d been thinking about it as much as she had. Hishands found her waist, steady and strong, and she melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss stole her breath, the heat of it wiping out every reason she had to keep her distance.
Noise from the saloon buzzed faintly in the background, but all Willa could hear was the wild pounding of her own heartbeat and the soft hitch of Cal’s breath as he dragged her closer.
The kiss deepened, pulling her under like a riptide she couldn’t fight. Cal’s hand slid between them, his palm pressing over her breast, his thumb grazing the edge of her bra.
Willa burned for him. Every inch of her was alive, leaning into him, chasing the rush that had been haunting her since the night of that first almost-kiss.
His touch sent shivers racing through her, and she arched toward him, her breath catching as the heat between them spiked higher.
Then the jukebox switched songs.
Patsy Cline.
Willa’s heartbeat stuttered.
She heard Gus in her head, his gravelly voice telling stories about that song. He always swore that when Patsy’s voice cut through the noise like that, it meant someone in the room was about to get their heart broken.
The music drifted out clear and slow. Then something else hit her. The bar had gone quiet. Not soft, not a lull. Silent.
Willa tore her mouth from Cal’s, her breathcoming hard as she pulled back enough to feel the eerie stillness pressing in from the other side of the door.
Something was wrong.
She swallowed, trying to steady herself, smoothing her hoodie and brushing her hands over the sides of her joggers as she worked to pull herself back together.
Cal’s breathing was still rough, but his eyes sharpened, picking up the same shift in the air that she did.
Without a word, Willa opened the door and stepped into the saloon, her cat’s tail bopping into the wall and just about everything else it came in contact with. Including, she was pretty sure, Cal’s junk.
On a grunt, Cal followed right behind her.
The saloon stretched out in front of her, eerily quiet. Every head had turned toward the entrance, the crowd frozen like someone had hit pause.
And then Willa saw her.
The woman in the body-hugging costume.
A deep, dark green jumpsuit clung to her like it was painted on, glittering at the seams, the neckline plunging low and the fabric wrapping tight over her curves. Her long, honey-blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves, framing her face like she had just walked off a magazine cover. A green velvet choker hugged her neck, and a slim black mask sat perfectly over her eyes.
The woman turned.
Willa’s stomach dropped.
Eden.
Her pulse slammed into her throat as Eden’s gaze slid past the crowd and landed straight on Cal.
A slow, familiar smile bloomed across Eden’s face. “Cal.”
Without hesitation, Eden rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if he had always belonged to her.
Which in a way, he had.
Willa’s chest tightened, her breath locking in place, her heart tripping over itself as the jukebox played on. Patsy’s voice curled through the quiet, the words sinking sharp and deep.
She already knew whose heart was about to break.
Chapter Seven
