Page 14 of Make Me Yours
The stable loomed under the pale moon, its peaked roof a jagged slash against the silver field. Grace shifted in her stall the moment I cracked the door, her ears pricking forward like she’d been waiting for me all night.
“Yeah, girl, I know,” I rumbled, sliding toward the tack room. “Another midnight run. You and me, partner.”
The hinges groaned as I stepped inside. The sharp bite of liniment and oats filled the air, a scent that dragged me back to long nights overseas when gun oil and sand were all I breathed. Back then, every scrape of boot leather or shift of gravel sent my pulse spiking, rifle welded to my shoulder.
I shoved the memory aside and hauled the saddle off its rack. The solid weight of the leather steadied me, an anchor in the present, reminding me this wasn’t a mission—just a man getting ready for a ride he couldn’t resist.
I’d thought about taking the truck, but it was too well-known around town. One glance at it parked anywhere near her place, and half of Lovelace would be talking before sunrise. So, Grace it was—quieter, less obvious, and a whole lot harder to trace.
Before I saddled her up, I plunged my hand into a canvas duffel under the bench. My fingers closed around a small cardboard box. Condoms. I’d slipped them in here after a visit to the drug store, and now the corner dug into my palm like a loaded trigger.
Smart planning, I told myself, like checking my mag before a raid. But my gut clenched—packing for “later” meant I was betting there’d be a next time. And maybe more than one.
This fling with Lilly was supposed to be pure heat, zero attachments. She didn’t want promises, and I sure as hell didn’t volunteer any.
That kept it safe. Safe for me, at least.
I yanked my phone from my pocket. The dark screen lit up, catching my reflection—stubble, tense jaw, eyes shadowed with hunger. One tap could send her a text: You up? Are we still on? But I hesitated. She hadn’t reached out.
On the cruise, she’d hunted me down, and last night she’d slipped into my bed like a dare I couldn’t refuse. If I checked innow, it’d feel like committing. Like admitting this was something deeper than stolen moments in the dark.
I pocketed the phone, jaw clenching. Better to let it play out. If she wants to cancel, she knows my number. If she doesn’t—well, maybe that’s my cue she’s all in.
With the shotgun snug in the saddle scabbard, I swung my leg over Grace and settled in for the ride.
Out in the night, Grace’s hooves clicked over the hard dirt. She tossed her head when I ran a hand down her neck, as if she smelled our destination. “You ready for tonight?” I murmured. “Lilly’s got an old shed where I used to stack wood—half door, wood shavings on the floor. Perfect place for you to spend a few hours, safe and sound.”
She snorted, warm breath puffing like steam. Horses always knew way more than they let on.
“Let’s get going, girl,” I muttered to Grace, voice low and rough. “One more night with everything on the line, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
Even as I spoke, the words felt hollow. But the longing in my chest was all too real. Tonight wasn't some date. This was a mission with one objective.
Lilly.
The way she'd looked at me last night, challenging me with those eyes, while her body said something entirely different. My blood ran hot just thinking about it. I'd told myself this thing was just—scratch the itch, move on. But each time I tasted her, I needed more.
And hell, if that wasn't becoming therealproblem.
By the time I guided Grace over the ridge, the coyotes had fallen silent. The night air hit my face like a cold slap, exactly what I needed to clear my head. Grace picked her way down the slope without my guidance. "Easy, girl," I muttered, my thighs already tensing at the thought of what waited below.
Lilly's cabin glowed through the pines—a single defiant light in all that darkness. I reined Grace in at the tree line beside Lilly’s property. Part of me wanted to turn back and pretend this midnight ride was just restlessness, nothing more. But my body knew better.
Then I caught her silhouette moving behind the curtains—bare shoulders, the curve of her hip as she turned—and my mouth went dry. My fingers brushed the box of condoms in my pocket.
Planning ahead. Like a goddamn Boy Scout.
I dismounted, my boots hitting the ground with a thud that matched my pulse. Grace followed me to the shed, burying her nose in the oats I’d stashed in the saddle bag. "At least one of us gets what we want without complications," I said, removing her saddle.
By the time I hit Lilly's porch, I'd locked everything down—face neutral, stance casual, like I wasn't hard as granite beneath my jeans. The screen door squeaked open, and there she stood, candlelight licking across skin I'd had my mouth on just last night. Her robe hung loose, deliberately so.
"Well," she drawled, one eyebrow raised, "you remembered about my shed. Let's see if you remember where everything else goes."
Whatever bullshit excuses I'd prepared evaporated. When she grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to her mouth, I let her take control—for now—even as something in me whispered this was a battle neither of us could win.
Tonight, I didn't give a damn about tomorrow's casualties.
As I opened the door, a shaggy goldendoodle with caramel-colored fur greeted me, tail sweeping the floorboards. Our eyes locked—hers amber and knowing, seeing right through my bullshit to the scars underneath.
