"You said it was ready." I try to keep my voice professional, but it comes out breathier than intended. "I'm eager to see what we're working with."
He nods toward the far corner where new walls partition off a section of the loft. "Office space is over there. Treatment area's set up near the main doors for easy access."
I follow him through the space, acutely aware of his presence beside me. The renovation is more extensive than I expected. Fresh drywall, proper insulation, even a small sink and cabinet for supplies. It's clearly designed with veterinary work in mind, thoughtful and practical.
"Wyatt, this is..." I trail off, overwhelmed. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Wanted it done right." He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture I'm learning means he's uncomfortable with gratitude. "Animals deserve proper care."
"It's perfect." I turn to face him, and suddenly we're standing closer than either of us intended. Close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes, smell his scent of leather and woodsmoke that makes my knees weak.
"Good," he says, his voice rougher than before.
The air between us crackles with the same tension that's been building for weeks. I should step back, maintain professionaldistance, but my feet won't obey. Instead, I find myself moving closer.
"The community fundraiser is tomorrow night," I say, though I'm not sure why I'm telling him this. "At the community center. Carly's organized it to help families who can't afford Christmas gifts."
"Sounds nice."
"You should come."
The invitation slips out before I can stop it, and I see surprise flicker across his face. "I don't really do community events."
"Maybe it's time you started."
We stare at each other, and I can see the war raging behind his eyes. Want battling with self-preservation, loneliness fighting against the safety of isolation.
"I'll think about it," he says finally.
It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. I'll take it.
We walk through the rest of the space, discussing equipment placement and storage needs, but the conversation feels secondary to the awareness humming between us. Every accidental brush of fingers when he hands me something sends sparks shooting through me. Every time our eyes meet, the air grows thicker.
"There's one more thing," he says as we finish the tour. "Something I wanted to show you."
He leads me up to the renovated loft, where a large window now frames a view of the ranch's western pastures. The glass is new, clear, and through it I can see the mountains rising in the distance, their peaks painted gold by the late afternoon sun.
"It's beautiful," I breathe.
"Thought you'd appreciate it. For when you're working late."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture hits me hard. He planned this view for me, considered what would make the spacewelcoming and comfortable. It's such a small thing, but it feels enormous.
"Thank you," I whisper, turning to face him.
He's closer than expected, having moved while I was distracted by the view. Close enough that I can see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Emmy," he says, my name rough with want.
This time, when he reaches for me, I don't hesitate. I step into his arms, my hands fisting in his sweater as his mouth finds mine.
The kiss is different from our previous encounters. Less desperate, more deliberate. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to savor every second. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with devastating gentleness.
I melt into him, every nerve ending coming alive under his touch. When his tongue traces my lower lip, I open for him with a soft sigh that he swallows with his mouth.
His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer until we're pressed together from chest to hip. I can feel the hard planes of his body against my curves, the rapid beat of his heart matching mine.
"We should stop," he murmurs against my lips, even as his hands roam lower, cupping my hips.
