His faded blue jean eyes glowed as they peered into mine. “Only you.” Touching his forehead to mine, he repeated, “Only you.”
Warmth and affection welled in my chest. Grinning to myself, I started humming the opening bars to “Here You Come Again,” knowing he’d recognize the Dolly classic.
His suntanned cheeks went red. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
“You deserve it.”
“That and much more.” He spun me in place. “I wouldn’t even complain if you decked me.”
I wrinkled my nose. “No violence, cowboy.”
His expression went serious. “Never any violence. Not with my hands, not with my words, not ever. It’s not how I operate.”
“Good answer.”
We held each other, continuing our simple two-step, our eyes locked onto each other. Watching Kit’s serious facing was like reading a book, so easy to see the affection, and the terror, and the bravery.
“I ain’t got no right, asking you to be patient with me, but I’m gonna ask anyway. I only ever felt this way once before.”
“And how do you feel?” I asked, loving the way he squared his shoulders as he considered my question.
“It’s like I’ve been struck by lightning and set on fire. Like someone’s asked me to live with my heart outside of my chest,” he said, poetry in his gruff voice. “All my careful plans seem real silly right now. But if you’re willing to be patient with a mess like me, I’m willing to try. I really am.”
“That’s all I ask, cowboy.”
Smiling, he brought his hand to my jaw, running his work-rough thumb over my smooth skin.
“Can I kiss you?”
His request, barely above a whisper, thundered in my chest.
“Yes.”
He went in without hesitation, pressing his warm lips to mine, soft, like a re-introduction. I opened my mouth a bit more to him, encouraging him, and he responded by pulling me back into a tight, secure hug as we deepened our kiss. Every ounce of insecurity and doubt fled at the certainty in the press of his lips. There was no hesitation in it. I let myself be held by him fully, welcoming his tongue, welcoming his hands as they first stroked up and down my back, then over the curve of my ass, pulling me against him like he wanted me inside his skin.
We kissed, and danced, and kissed some more, love songs playing out like a wedding march in my head.
Kit Baker wasn’t, nor had he ever been, a hook-up kind of guy. No wonder he was freaking out, because this felt like something approaching forever, like every terrible thing I felt after running into Rich had been flipped on its head.
Finally, we pulled away enough to catch our breath, to stare a little more into each other’s eyes. And that’s when I saw the wince he was trying to hide.
I pulled back a bit more. “Cowboy? How’s your knee doing?”
He thinned his lips, then answered, “I suppose this is where I’ve got to be honest with you, right?”
“Yes.”
“It hurts pretty good right now. But I can barely feel it, I promise you.”
I nodded, unwilling to fuss at him for telling me the truth. Instead, I asked, “You mind holding off on that steak?”
His eyebrows met in the middle. “Would you prefer something else?”
I waved away his concern. “No, I wanted to check in with you before I suggested moving this to the bedroom. And into a more horizontal position.”
“’Cause of my knee?”
“Uh, sure,” I responded, my hand going to the bulge trapped under starched denim.
