“Tally, wait.” I run after her. And then I’m chasing her into the field because of course she doesn’t stay on the gravel. She goes for the dirt, where there are divots and uneven ground that could take either of us down.
The sky lights up and then, with a loud crack of thunder, a sheet of rain pours down on us. Tally doesn’t even pause—if anything, she almost seems to jump in excitement—and then she’s heading away from the house and farther into the acres of land that I love.
“Where are you going?” I holler.
“To dance in the wildflowers!” she yells as she rushes toward that field.
“What?”
She spins around, a smile on her face, and continues walking backward. Her dress is already clinging to her incredible curves, the ruffles at the hem getting caught between her legs. “It’s my favorite thing to do when it’s raining.”
She laughs and then turns on her heel, rushing away from me again. Even over the steady cadence of the rain, I hear her warm laughter calling to me like a siren. I can’t leave her out here.
And hell, I’m tired of lying because Lord knows I don’t want to. I want to dance with her in the damn meadow. Beneath the angry moon that’s peeking out between the clouds.
I pick up my pace and catch up with her quickly. Grabbing her by the waist, I spin her toward me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, panting for air.
Her wild hair falls across her face and clings to her mouth. I keep one hand around her waist and with the other, I untangle the locks from her lips, pushing them back behind her ear. “I was thinking I’d dance with you.”
Her eyes light up and I swear they keep me warm even as the cold rain falls on us. With a smile on her lips, she whispers, “But I thought you don’t dance?”
I don’t answer her question with words. I pull her to my chest and then, while humming “Wildflower” by Tom Petty, I twirl her around as the spring shower soaks us.
With her cheek against my chest, I’m sure she can feel the unsteady pounding of my heart. She tilts her head up to me and murmurs, “You’re a secret romantic, huh?”
I’d laugh if it was funny. Of all the things I’ve been calledin my life, a romantic isn’t one of them. I’m sure my ex would tell Tally to run far away unless she wants someone who does nothing but grunt and ignore her.
But I can’t ignore Tally. It’s impossible. I grip her cheek and smooth my thumb against her lips. “Only for you, Wildflower.”
She beamsat the nickname, and pride swells within me.
“Will you kiss me again?” she whispers.
I barely shake my head. Not because I don’t want to kiss her, but because I need something else. “What if I want you to kiss me?”
“It’s not going to stop at a kiss,” she warns.
“Better fucking not,” I growl.
Her eyes light up again and then she lifts her arms and tugs on my shirt, pulling me down so we’re nose to nose. “Better make it good, then.”
CHAPTER 28
Tally
There are moments in your life that you just know you’ll remember forever. That when you’re old and gray, lying on your deathbed, God willing, you’ll still remember every second.
This kiss—no, this night—is that moment for me.
I’m positive that no man will ever look at me the way Walker has tonight. Like he can’t get close enough. Like he wants my taste infused in his blood. Like he’ll hurt anyone who gets between us.
The ache for him has grown during the last few weeks, from a dull, ever-present throb to an overpowering obsession I can’t ignore.
I’m reckless in my need for him, dancing in a field as lightning illuminates the sky. Nothing is as scary as the feeling that consumes me when our lips finally touch. When he licks at my mouth, grips my hips, and lifts me into his arms. When he tilts his head just so and devours me.
The rain continues to fall in sheets, and my dress clings to me. Still, I feel none of it. Only Walker. My cowboy.
