I think about his quiet loyalty, the way he stood behind me in the kitchen, the way he believed in me when I was struggling to hold myself up.
I should still be mad. But I’m not. Because I understand him the same way he understands me. The way no one else ever has—or ever will.
Certainty presses against my chest.
“I love you too. Have my heart, James—it’s yours.”
He kisses me. So hard we’re knocked from our knees to the ground, but he catches me softly in his arms. Rolling me to my back and laying his body halfway over mine. I feel nothing but joy as his mouth presses into mine. Nothing but peace as his fingers curl into my hair.
Slowly, like a tide rolling into shore, I realize that James ismine.All mine.
I press my hand to his strong jaw, deepening the kiss, roughing it up. His body presses harder into mine. My heart pounds against his sternum. I let my hands glide up his arms, hot skin dotted with goosebumps.
I pull away just enough to see his eyes and the bright stars behind him. “Take me to bed, Cowboy.”
His grin tilts and he presses my hair away from my forehead. The tenderest, sweetest of gestures. “You do know I’m a farmer, right?”
“Shhhh.” I lean up and kiss him. “Show me those boots again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Madison
He wraps my arms around his neck and piggybacks me all the way to my cottage. We’re laughing, my body jolting against his as he jogs.
At the door he shifts me in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, so he can kiss me hard. His mouth crashes into mine as he kicks the door shut behind us, his tongue slipping past my lips.
He swallows my gasp in the dark, turning to press me against the door. My hands roam up his chest, curl around the back of his neck, tangle in his hair. He groans, low and rough, and my stomach twists into delicious knots. I want more. Igetmore.
I get to have James.
The kiss is wild. Desperate and hungry. His hands are everywhere, holding me tight as I cling to him, still wrapped around his body. His solid hips press between my thighs.
Months—years—of longing surge to the surface, all of it crashing into us at once.
He carries me to my kitchen table and sets me down, leaningover to place both palms flat on the surface, mouth devouring mine. I get my hands under his shirt to run up his burning-hot torso. Trace every ridge and swell of his muscles. He flexes against my hands like he’s trying to capture my touch.
I want to see it.I want to see everything.
I tug at his shirt and he appeases me, breaking away from my mouth to rise and rip his shirt over his head. My bones turn liquid seeing the way his jeans hang on his hips, straining with desire. My teeth ache to sink right there in the jut of his hip.
I just need a few hours to sit here and stare at him. Soak up every detail of his body.
He wets his lips and leans over again, forcing my face to angle up.
“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing this.” He pushes my hair from my face—a brief pause in the madness—softly and sweetly lifting my shirt off over my head.
Air rushes over my breasts, along with his realization that I’m not wearing a bra. His breath hitches as his eyes take me in, fingertips floating up the outside of my arm, centimeters from my chest. Not touching yet.
“How many times I’ve fantasized about you like this,” he says, leaning, lips teasing mine again.
“How many?” I’m breathless with anticipation. Aching. Inching my fingers to the waistband of his jeans.
His mouth brushes mine with every word. “It’s not a respectful amount.”
“Thank god,” I groan. “Disrespect me, James.”
He pulls back to stare at me, eyes sinfully touching me in all the places his hands haven’t yet. He unbuckles my shorts and shucks them down my hips, past my knees—then lets them fall to the floor.
