The rest of that thought—about how I was falling for her more and more every day, how I couldn’t imagine being apart from her—stayed locked down where it was safe.
Alex’s cheeks flushed pink, and she pressed closer against me. “Your family’s pretty great.”
“They are,” I agreed. “Speaking of which, we should probably get cleaned up for dinner. I’m about three layers of dust past presentable.”
“I noticed,” Alex smiled, her hand finding the front of my shirt. “Though I have to say, the whole rugged cowboy thing works for you. Maybe we should blow off dinner…”
Her tone was teasing but with an edge that hadn’t been there this morning. She bit her lip as her fingers played with the buttonson my work shirt and I felt my mouth go dry.
“Alex—”
“Plus you’ve been so modest about changing around me,” her voice dropped lower—as did her hand. “Very gentlemanly. It does things to a woman.”
Heat flooded me as I stepped closer, hands finding her waist.
“Just being respectful,” my voice was rough.
“Mm-hmm,” her fingers traced the edge of my jeans. “Very thoughtful of you.”
The way she said it suggested she had other opinions about my thoughtfulness.
“Come on,” I said, catching her hand before it could wander any further south. “Let’s get ready for dinner before someone comes looking for us.”
“Fine,” Alex sighed dramatically. “But I’m picking your shirt.”
“Deal.”
Back in our room, Alex immediately claimed the bathroom. “I need to fix my hair and change,” she announced, already gathering clothes from the dresser and closet. “Unless you want to shower first?”
“You go ahead,” I settled into a chair by the window. “Take your time.”
The sound of running water gave me space to think. Alex’s energy today felt as if her usual filters had been dialed down a notch and the Alex that surfaced that glorious evening after her family’s engagement party was waiting to break through. Maybe it was time to stop being quite so careful. The hormone therapy was working—I felt more like myself than I had in the last year.
When she emerged twenty minutes later, I forgot how to form complete thoughts.
The emerald-striped blouse made her eyes look impossibly bright and the way the white cotton skirt moved around her legs when she walked, while the belt emphasized the curve of herwaist, made me want to put my hands there and never let go.
“Your turn,” she said, moving to her makeup bag.
“Thanks, darlin’,” I headed for the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar—not wide open, but enough to see what she’d do.
Under the perfectly boring, tepid water, I let myself imagine Alex’s reaction if she caught a glimpse. Instead of the panic that used to accompany that thought, I felt... curious. Ready.
When I came out, towel around my waist, Alex was standing at the vanity putting in earrings. She glanced over and her eyes lingered—first on my chest where the pale round scars from tube placement were visible, then tracking the skin graft scars that wrapped around my left shoulder and side.
I took a deep breath as her gaze caught on the thick ridge of tissue along my collarbone before meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“I hung a shirt on the closet door,” her voice was slightly rougher than usual, but steady. I didn’t miss the way she licked her lips, the attention sending a spike of confidence through me.
I pulled on my underwear and jeans, then the red western shirt she’d picked out, leaving it unbuttoned for the moment. When I turned to grab my belt, I caught her eyes detailing—curious and hungry.
“Much better,” she smiled when I approached, stepping closer to adjust my collar. Her fingers brushed against my neck, just above where the worst of the scarring began. I let her touch linger, watched her eyes darken as she slowly buttoned the shirt over skin she now knew was marked by trauma.
“Appreciate the professional consultation,” I teased, catching her hands and giving her a quick kiss before pulling away to retrieve my boots. “Ready to go?”
“More than ready,” she bounced on her toes.
“Then come on, Alexandra,” I offered her my arm. “Let’s go show you off.”
