“I can feel you lookin’ at my ass,” I say, straightening up and turning to face him with a teasing smile.
His eyes darken, and he leans against his pitchfork with predatory grace. “Negative, Bree. I’d like to spank the hell out of it.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, sending heat racing through my veins and making my knees weak. The frank hunger in his voice, the way he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me—it’s nothing like the gentle, almost hesitant man who kissed me so softly last night.
“Jesse…” I breathe, not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation.
He straightens up, his jaw clenching like he’s fighting some internal battle. “Sorry. That was…inappropriate.”
“Was it?” I take a step closer to him, emboldened by the obvious effect I’m having on him. “Because I don’t think I minded.”
For a moment, the air between us crackles with tension so thick I can almost taste it. His green eyes search my face, and I can see the war between desire and restraint playing out in his expression.
Then, he takes a step back, putting distance between us. “We should get back to work.”
Part of me wants to push, to close the distance he just created and see what happens. But the rational part of my brain knows he’s right. I’m fresh off a devastating breakup, he works for my brother, and I’m in no position to make smart decisions about anything, let alone gorgeous cowboys who look at me like they want to consume me whole.
So I go back to mucking stalls, hyperaware of every movement he makes, every breath he takes. The work that felt meditative before now feels charged with electricity, every accidental brush of our hands when we pass each other sending sparks up my arm.
By lunchtime, I’m wound tighter than a spring and trying very hard not to think about exactly what Jesse might do if he decided to act on his threat about spanking me.
We break for sandwiches that Cookie packed for us, sitting on hay bales in the shade of the barn. The conversation stays safely on neutral topics—the weather, the cattle, plans for the upcoming week. But underneath the mundane words, I can feel a current of awareness humming between us.
“How long are you planning to stay?” Jesse asks as we finish eating.
“I don’t know yet.” It’s an honest answer. “As long as I’m needed, I guess. As long as I can be useful.”
“You’re always useful here, Bree. This is your home.”
There’s something in his voice. A warmth and certainty that makes my chest tight with emotion I’m not ready to examine too closely.
The afternoon passes in much the same way, working side by side, stealing glances when we think the other isn’t looking, the tension between us building with every passing hour. By the time the sun starts sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, I’m exhausted from more than just physical labor.
“We should head up to the house,” Jesse says, checking his watch. “Cookie said dinner would be ready around six, and the other boys will be coming up to eat.”
“The other boys?”
“Denver and Austin. They don’t usually eat with the family, but Cookie insists when there’s company.” He gives me a small smile. “Apparently, you count as special company today.”
I laugh, turning to face him. “Cookie just needs an excuse to bring everybody together.” My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my back pocket, a smile working its way across my face as I see a text from Nora.
N
Girls’ night moved up. Meet me at the Rusty Spur?
Why the hell not?
A
I’ll be there!
As we walk toward the house, our hands brush accidentally, and I feel that same electric jolt I’ve been fighting all day. Jesse’s step falters slightly, and when I look up at him, his jaw is clenched tight.
This is going to be a long dinner.
EIGHT
JESSE
