Breaking from her lips, my mouth trails a hot, open-mouthed path down the flushed softness of her throat. I find the frantic flutter of her pulse and taste it, nipping lightly, soothed by her gasp.
“I want you,” she breathes, the words a soft, damp confession against my cheek.
She’s flushed, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants, just as she always is when I touch her. The proof is right there before me. She doesn’t need to say the words to tell me that she wants more.
Then I pull back, just enough to see her eyes and the way she’s staring at me.
And I see it. It’s not just lust swimming in those hazel depths. It’s a yearning that runs deep enough to brush bones. It’s a look that seems to want me—the man, not just the release.
Hope seeps through me. It feels like a trick. A beautiful, devastating trick spun from my own deepest wishes.
Slowly, forcing a control I don’t feel, I pull back an inch more. I silence the doubt, the only way I know how. I lower my mouth to hers again, but this time the kiss is different. Softer. A slow, melting exploration that’s a promise and an apology all at once. When I finally break it, our breaths mingle in the scant space between us.
“We should be getting to the diner,” I murmur, my voice gravelly and strained. “Before the dinner rush packs the place.”
A faint, disappointed crease appears between her brows. I brush my thumb over it to ease it away.
“Maybe when we get back…” I let the sentence hang, lifting a brow, my gaze drinking in the beautiful, flushed image of her. A hint of a smile touches my mouth. “If you’re good, I’ll take care of whatever you need.”
It gets exactly the reaction I crave. She squirms against me, nodding quickly and earnestly without an ounce of shame.
“Okay,” she whispers, the hitch in her voice barely containing her excitement for the future.
With a final peck to her reddened cheek, I help her slide down from the dresser. Her legs seem a little unsteady, and she has to cling to my front for a passing second before gaining her bearings.
Not wanting to separate completely, I grab her hand and bring it to my lips.
“Come on, angel,” I say, leading her toward the door, the warmth of her hand in mine as much as I’ll let myself enjoy before losing complete control and pouncing.
8
Millie
The diner is packed, despite Cyrus’ worries of getting here early. He doesn’t seem to mind as we’re tucked in a booth on the side, eyeing up the menu while our waitress fetches our drinks.
Instead of looking at the different pictures displayed to pick from, I’m too busy appreciating the way his brows knit together as he works to make up his mind. Does he realize he always makes the same expressions when he struggles to pick one or the other?
Sometimes, I notice he looks atmethat way. I think that’s how I recognize it so easily. Do I look at him the same way whenever I think of the future that’s to come?
Maybe I wouldn’t struggle so much to make up my mind if the worries in my head weren’t just in my own.
Waiting until we have food sitting in front of us, I nudge his leg with my foot. “So, I was wondering…”
While he sinks his teeth into a juicy burger, I find myself swallowing hard.
“How would you feel if I made up my mind about the whole veterinarian thing?” Grabbing one of the fries on my plate, I focus on the crispy outside instead of staring at his face. My nerves will get to me if I stare too closely at his reaction. “You’d probably send me back home, right?”
The answer should be yes. An immediate yes.
Yet, as soon as I ask it, all I get is silence.
Cyrus looks… startled? His brows shoot up toward his hairline, and his grip on his burger makes it drip faster toward his plate.
He clears his throat in an attempt to save himself. “Of course not. You’d want some experience, wouldn’t you? Sticking around isn’t a problem. You’ll stay as planned.”
Munching on my fry, another few seconds pass by. “What if I don’t want to be one anymore?”
Another pause, this time paired with a grunt. “It’s only been a few weeks.” His brows furrow once more. “If you’re feeling overwhelmed with the ranch work, I can do everything. You won’t even have to worry about ranch work to begin with. Hell, Millie. A vet has nothing to do with what happens on the ranch.”
