In sleep, she looked younger. The careful control she maintained during the day—the professional distance, the measured words—all of it gone, leaving just Johanna. His Johanna, now. The thought sent a rush of heat through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming through the window.
She stirred at his touch, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked confused, blinking up at him. Then recognition dawned, followed by a slow smile that reached all the way to her eyes.
“Hey,” she said, voice husky with sleep.
“Morning.” He couldn’t help but smile back, running a hand over her hair.
She stretched beside him, muscles shifting under skin. “What time is it?”
Walker glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Almost nine.”
“Nine?” She sat up, clutching the quilt to her chest. “We never sleep this late. The guys?—”
“Are fine.” He pulled her back down, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Sounds like breakfast is already happening.”
She settled against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if she’d done it a thousand times instead of just last night. “We should get up.”
“Not yet.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair—vanilla and something uniquely her. “Five more minutes.”
They lay together, her heart beating steady against his ribs, their breath finding the same rhythm. The house creaked andsettled around them. Through the closed window, he heard the distant bark of a dog—Bishop, probably, chasing something in the yard. The everyday sounds of Valor Ridge continuing without them.
“They’ll know,” she said after a while, her voice quiet against his skin.
He ran a hand down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in its wake. “They probably already do.”
As if on cue, a wolf whistle drifted up from downstairs, followed by River’s distinctive laugh.
He snorted, burying his face in her hair. “That kid. I swear.”
“See?” she groaned, but she was smiling. “This will be the talk of the ranch for weeks.”
“So?” he said, kissing her shoulder.
She raised her head to look at him, hair falling in her face. “That doesn’t bother you? Everyone knowing our business?”
He brushed the hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Let them talk. I don’t care.” He meant it, he realized. After years of holding back, of keeping his feelings locked tight, he didn’t care who knew.
He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. He grabbed his jeans from where they’d landed the night before, pulling them on without bothering with underwear. Behind him, he heard Johanna sit up, felt her eyes on his back as he fastened his belt.
“You’re really not scared,” she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.
He turned to face her. She’d wrapped the quilt around herself, clutching it to her chest. Her hair was tousled, lips still swollen from his kisses, a small mark visible on her collarbone where his mouth had been.
“Terrified,” he admitted, crossing to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. “But not of this. Not of us.”
Her eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whatever she found made her smile, a small, private curve of her lips that he wanted to taste again.
“Where’s my sweater?” She glanced around, spotting it on the floor near the window. “And my jeans?”
Walker watched as she slid out of bed, still clutching the quilt around her. She bent to pick up her clothes, the quilt slipping to reveal the curve of her hip, the small of her back. His mouth went dry at the sight.
“Stop staring,” she said without looking at him, a smile in her voice.
“Can’t help it.” He stood, crossing to her in three long strides. His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lips finding the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”
She turned in his arms, her hands coming up to frame his face. “So are you.” She kissed his temple, his cheek, and finally his mouth, a light brush of lips that promised more.
“We should go downstairs,” she murmured against his lips.
