“Yeah…”
“I could’ve—should’ve—called you. Your sister keeps trying to set me up with guys, and it’s fucking miserable. I’ve yet to havehalf as muchfun as I did with you. Is that pathetic to admit after spending one night together?”
Lucas laughs. Not in a judgemental or malicious manner. He laughs like he understands my exact emotions and has been waiting for the chance to explain them.
“It’s probably more pathetic for me to say I’ve thought about you constantly since then. There’s something about you that helps me relax, and I don’t get to feel that way often anymore.” The waver in his voice makes my heart thump loudly in my chest. Like the protective roar of a wild animal. “A drunk driver hit me seven years ago, and I should’ve died. I’d always wanted to live somewhere away from the city”—he gestures around usat the sky and thick forest—“and I used my payout to make it happen. But I won’t lie and say it hasn’t been stressful.”
I nod, watching the worry stitch back into the fine lines in his face. It deepens when he pauses to read my expression.
“I’ve always been a bit impulsive. It’s why I hopped on a bull without second thought when offered, why I threw away a sure-fire career at my dad’s accounting firm to pursue work as a farrier, why I bought this place based on a few realtor photos because it felt right.” The memory elicits a shy smile, and I can feel his soul backing every word. “It’s also why I was right there in the bar, about to attempt to woo you with a cheesy pickup line, when you spilled your water.”
“You think we were meant to meet that night?”
“Does that sound crazy?”
Maybe a little, in the sense that love at first sight is something I read about, but nobody I know has had it happen in real life. It’s always a gradual transition from strangers to friends to something more. One-night stands never make it to the light of morning, and you definitely don’t think about them every single night for months afterward.
“No. Granted, we weretechnicallymeant to meet that night, since Holly orchestrated an entire party for her family and friends to get to know each other.” I shiver against the wet running down my spine—snowmelt dripping from the tips of my hair. “But, in the months since, I haven’t spent a single second thinking about anybody else from that party.”
“Not even my uncle Ted?” He gestures to mimic a massive beard.
“Oh,yes.I dream about that majestic beard every night.” I fake a swoon. “No, Lucas. Not even him.”
“Do you know how many dreams I’ve had where you show up at my ranch—usually in that little slip of a dress you had on at the party—and I get to feel you under me again? So manyfucking dreams of your perfect little pussy, I wake up tasting it.” He winces at the last sentence, clearly feeling like he might’ve crossed a line with the confession. And when I open my mouth to speak, even more words tumble out from between his perfect lips, despite his cheeks becoming redder by the second. “Listen, you’re only here for a few days, and it’s Christmas, and maybe we could keep each other company rather than retreat to our separate homes. I think I’ve maybe had a touch too much bourbon, because I know this is a wild proposal, but if you decide you want to do that, I’ll leave my front door unlocked. If not, I’ll let you enjoy the cabin you rented, and we’ll never speak of this moment again.”
Then in an instant, his large frame is lumbering back to the house, and I’m shell-shocked in his wake. But fuck me if everything in my body isn’t desperate to make chase.
He’s right, it’s just a few days.
What’s the harm?
If we were holding off on hooking up because we didn’t want to potentially piss off Holly, that ship sailed six months ago.
Brushing the snow from my back and butt, I glance toward the dark cabin out of obligation. Long enough I can make the argument I considered going back if questioned by the court of Holly. Then I’m jogging my way to Lucas’s front porch.
Within seconds of the heavy door slamming shut behind me, he turns the corner from the kitchen with a smile on his face. Already stripped of his coat, his slightly damp T-shirt clings to every curve of his broad upper body. Lucas’s massive palms engulf my cheeks, pulling me into a desperate kiss. Tongues intertwining, moans captured between sealed lips, he has me breathless and wanton in his arms.
Layer by layer, he tugs at my wet clothes, peeling them from my skin and letting each article fall to the floor in a series of loud smacks. Until I’m wearing nothing but underwear and a bralette,shivering in his arms despite the heat burning my lungs with every shallow breath. The drag of his tongue down my neck is like the lighting of a match.
My fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, and I’m lifting to expose his thick torso, firm pecs, broad shoulders. Dark chest hair is matted down from the wet shirt, and his eyes smoulder when he takes in my near-nakedness.
“Come on, baby. Let’s warm you up.” His lips move over mine while we shuffle across the dimly lit room, neither willing to stop feeling each other up for long enough to walk properly.
The wood stove glows, flooding the surrounding floor and couch with an amber glow, and he lowers me to the plush upholstery. A firm palm splayed over my back, the other cradling my skull, we sink into bliss together. And for a moment, the world falls still, waiting for us to settle into place on his couch.
“We’re doing this?” He hovers above me, touching but notenough. I need to feel him everywhere. Consuming me.
Maybe I won’t spend the holidays working on commissions until my fingers stiffen around the pencil. Maybe I’ll spend them with a naked cowboy wrapped around me instead.
Great trade-off, if you ask me.
I nip at his jaw, stubble scraping my lip. “We’re doing this.”
Not wasting another second, nimble fingers release the bralette clasp at my back in one swift movement. He flings the white lace to the floor and takes my breasts in both hands, massaging and caressing, holding them so he can suck a nipple into his mouth with a sated groan. Then trailing his tongue across my chest to give the same treatment on the other side.
After a moment, Lucas grabs the elastic of my underwear, shimmying it over the curve of my ass and down my goosebump-covered thighs. There between my legs—my naked body spread before him—he studies me in the dim light. Assessing every curve like he’ll mold them from clay. Fingers stippling overeach freckle, blemish, and stretch mark with the delicate touch of a sable paint brush. As if he’ll be relying on a photographic memory to create a masterpiece later.
Then his palms are ghosting over my skin, leaving me squirming and whimpering as he closes in on the place I need him most. “Please.”
