But it’s no use.
I fall forward with both hands stretched out in front of me, landing in the mud with a splat.
Laughter rips out of me, and tears stream down my face as I turn my head. I take in my form: hands and feet lost in the mud, the sleeves of Grayson’s flannel slowly dampening, with my ass pointed in the air like I’m in a modified downward dog pose. “Leave me!” I scream to Grayson. “I’m a lost cause! Save yourself!”
Grayson's hands come to his knees and he doubles over, laughing so hard I can see the tears beginning to stream down his face. “Come on, city girl,” he says as he takes a giant step forward. He squats low, movinghis shoulder under my waist, and before I know it, I’m hoisted out of the mud over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, much like he carried the calf earlier.
Even though I’m covered in cold mud and cow dung, I’m still a warm-blooded woman, and a hot heat forms between my legs at how he can throw my weight around like it’s nothing. He sets me down on the seat, taking a step back so we can both look at the mess I’ve made.
Thick clumps of brownish goo mixed with hay and God knows what cover my feet, nearly up to my knees. My hands are just as bad, and I can make out the splatter of muddy liquid at the bottom of my dress.
“I’m so sorry,” Grayson mumbles, digging through the back of the side-by-side for a work rag. He finds a small semi-used one and quickly starts to clean the mud off of my hands. It smears into my skin more than cleans it, and I cover my free hand with his, stilling his motions.
He looks down at me, and I tilt my head up. A slight breeze picks up, taking my loose hair and brushing it across my face. Grayson grazes a hand along my cheek, brushing back a few of the flyaway strands, and then his knuckle trails down, coming to rest along my chin.
“Holly,” he murmurs, ushering my mouth a little closer to his. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush you, but I’d really like to kiss you right now.”
My muddy hands fly out to rest on his hips, fisting the hem of his shirt to pull him closer to me. He jolts forward, standing between my spread legs. His eyes flick down to the space between us where my dress has inched up, and my thighs are on full display for him.
“Holly,” he rasps again, his voice suddenly dry. “Can I kiss you?”
“Depends.” I dart my tongue out to lick my lips, leaning into his touch.
He brushes his nose against mine. “Depends on what?”
With a smile, I whisper against his lips. “Well, do you kiss all your friends?”
He slides the hand that had been holding my hair in place back to grip my neck and pulls me into him. “Baby, we both know you were never going to be just my fucking friend.”
And with that, I chase that last inch of space between us. Our top lips meet first, and then our mouths slowly come together. I inhale a sharp breath once we kiss. His lips are soft, warm, and I whimper when he runs the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip.
I open for him, and my hands that had been gripping his waist move up for better reach, and I pull him to me, nearly knocking him over. He lays me down on the seat of the UTV with all of his weight pressing me intothe cushions. The friction from his jeans rub against my underwear as my legs are spread wide to accommodate his broad waist.
We make out like teenagers, exploring one another as my arms wrap around his shoulders. His mouth moves down to my neck, my chest. His thick forearms bracket the sides of my head as I wrap a leg around him.
It isn’t until we hear a cow moo, one that seems awfully close, that Grayson breaks the kiss. He looks over his shoulder to find one of the cows standing nearby with its head cocked to the side as if it was wondering what we were up to.
“Cock blocked by a cow,” he groans, standing up to his full height. He guides me to sit up, and I chuckle when I see him, noticing the shared mud that now covers his shirt, face, and even parts of his mussed hair.
He reaches a hand up, gently swiping some of my hair that’s fallen over my forehead, and tucks a strand behind my ear, his fingertip grazing under my chin as it falls. “Dr. Carrington,” he says with a smirk. “I think we’ve officially made a cowgirl out of you.”
Chapter Twelve
Grayson
“Mornin’, Momma.” I press a soft kiss to the top of my mom’s head as I slip by her, reaching around to grab the carafe of coffee from the warmer.
She twists immediately, reaching for a coffee cup from the cabinet above her head. She sets it down, and I know next she’s going to go to the fridge to pull out the milk, and she’ll make a pit stop at the drawer beside the fridge to grab a spoon to stir it. I’m thirty years old, and she still dotes on me. I guess I know where I get it from.
“How was yesterday? Did Holly enjoy feeding the goats?” she eagerly asks, pulling the sugar canister forward.
Ah, so maybe there are some ulterior motives on her mind today besides taking care of her son.
“Oh, she had fun,” I muse, scooping a large spoonful of sugar and tipping it into my steaming mug. I take my time stirring, letting her squirm, having to purse my lips to hide my own smile.
“Grayson Mitchell Hart.” She playfully swats my arm with the back of her hand. “You are not going to stand here and tell me it was ‘fine.’ You are going to give your mom every detail of what happened, starting from Holly having dinner at your house, and everything that happened after.” She folds her arms across her chest, doing her best to scowl at me. “Your dad and I couldn’t help but hear the side-by-side getting put back in the machine shed hours after dinner.”
I let the smile that I had been holding back show now, and I turn to face my mom, bringing my mug to my lips for that first magnificent sip. I’m perfectly capable of making my own coffee, and I do on the weekends. But something about coffee made at someone else’s house makes it taste that much better.
