“I know.”
“Someone’s going to get burned.”
“Probably.”
“Probably definitely.”
But he kisses me again anyway, and I let him, because right now, in this dark barn with hay dust in theair and danger all around us, I don’t care about getting burned.
I care about the way his hands feel on my skin. The way his mouth moves against mine. The way my entire body lights up when he touches me.
That’s when the barn door flies open.
“Wyatt?”Jesse’s voice cuts through the darkness in a loud whisper. “What the hell are you doing in the McCoy’s barn—oh. Well.”
Light from a phone flashlight illuminates us with me pressed against Wyatt, my lips puffy from kissing, my tank top askew, his hand still under the hem. Jesse stops dead in the doorway, and I hear Boone bump into him from behind.
“What’s the holdup?” Boone asks, then spots us. “Oh. Hey, Callie.”
“Hey,” I manage, my voice coming out strangled. I’m acutely aware of how this looks—how debauched I must appear with my hair messed up, my clothes disheveled, Wyatt’s body still pressed against mine.
Wyatt steps back from me, putting space between us that feels like a canyon. “What are you two doing here?”
“Looking for you,” Jesse says, still holding the light on us, and I can see his eyes taking in every detail like my flushed face, Wyatt’s defensive stance, and the way we’re both breathing hard. “You disappeared with your toolbox. Figured you were up to something.”
“Turns out we were right,” Boone adds cheerfully, buthis eyes are dark as they travel over me, lingering on the mess that I am.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, trying to straighten my clothes without being obvious about it.
“Really?” Jesse’s grin is visible even in the dim light, but there’s heat in his gaze too. “Because it looks like you and my brother were about to?—”
“Shut up,” Wyatt growls, moving slightly in front of me, protective.
“I was just going to say ‘have a conversation,’” Jesse says innocently, but his eyes drop to my mouth. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Nothing. We weren’t doing anything.”
“Uh-huh.” Jesse steps into the barn, and Boone follows, closing the door behind them. The space suddenly feels much smaller, more intimate. “So why are you hiding in here?”
“Her dad came home early,” Wyatt explains, his voice tight. “We didn’t want him to see us.”
“Smart,” Boone says, moving closer. “Hank Thompson finding a McCoy on his property would not end well.”
“Hence the hiding,” I add, very aware that I’m now trapped between three McCoy brothers in a dark barn while wearing very little.
“Hence the close hiding,” Jesse says, moving closer still.
“So,” he says quietly, his voice dropping to that tone that made me weak during the chili cook-off practice, “were we interrupting something important?”
“No,” Wyatt and I say simultaneously, but the denial sounds weak even to me.
“Because it really looks like we’re interruptingsomething.” Jesse steps closer, and now he’s in my space, close enough that I can see the way his pupils are dilated in the low light. “Something that involves my brother’s hands under your shirt.”
My face flames, but there’s something else too. A heat that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
“Jesse,” Wyatt warns, more resigned than angry.
“What? I’m making conversation.” Jesse reaches out and touches my wrist, his thumb finding my pulse point exactly the way Wyatt’s did earlier. “Your heart’s racing, pretty girl.”
