One
Ina
“Your daddy tells me you’ve been handling things really well over there,” Mr. Redding says.
He’s standing in front of his booth at the St. Patrick’s Day Ag Fair like the godfather of Texas cattle. Tall, silver-haired, broad. With his sons flanking him like a cowboy catalog come to life.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Redding.” I shake his hand, trying not to drip sweat on him. It’s a hundred degrees out here, and I made the mistake of wearing my get-your-shit-together jeans. The dark, stiff ones that remind me exactly how many carbs I’ve had this week. “Someone’s gotta keep the ranch going while my parents enjoy their best cruise life.”
He chuckles. “Well, you picked a good time to swing by. You know Mack and Levi.” Two of his sons give me polite nods, one touching his hat. Genetics blessed this entire damn family. Same tall, built frames, golden eyes, sun-kissed skin, roped muscles you only get from actual manual labor. “And that one,” he calls over his shoulder, “is Beau. Best in the county. Knows his wayaround bloodlines and breeding plans better than anyone. Y’all should talk.”
The man in question has his back to me. He’s wearing a black T-shirt stretched across the widest chest I’ve ever seen. The fabric pulls tight between his shoulder blades, damp with sweat, clinging to the hard ridges of muscle under. His dusty ball cap pulled low. His big, calloused hands are curled around a water bottle… My brain supplies an image of his hands on my body,at and I shut it down immediately.
I should not be cataloging any of this. I’m only here to discuss semen. Bull semen. For cattle breeding.
Then he turns. And sweet baby Jesus.
Beau Redding walks toward me with the kind of slow, easy confidence that makes your brain short-circuit. He’s tall… like tall-tall. At least six-three, maybe six-four. With huge shoulders tapering to a lean waist. A square jaw dusted with golden stubble that makes me wonder what it would feel like scraping against my neck. My cheek. My inner thigh. His lips are full. Distractingly full. The kind of mouth that looks like it was built to do things a good woman shouldn’t think about in public.
And his eyes. Pale gold. Ringed with dark lashes that are completely unfair on a man that big. They don’t just look at me…they land on me. Heavy. Focused. Like a physical thing pressing against my skin.
He doesn’t smile. Just holds out his hand.
“Hi,” he rumbles in a low, gravelly voice that vibrates through my chest and settles somewhere much lower.
My nipples stand to attention. Both of them. Like soldiers reporting for duty. At a livestock fair. In front of his father. Fantastic.
For a second, I forget why I’m here. Forget the heat. My name. Basic civility. Because Beau Redding’s hand is wrapped around mine and my brain is offline. His palm is rough,calloused, and so warm it’s almost hot. His fingers swallow mine whole…thick and strong, closing around my hand like he’s holding something he doesn’t plan on giving back. I can feel the ridges of his skin against mine. Every line, every rough edge. And my body reacts before my brain can catch up. A flush crawls up my neck. My pulse spikes. Something low in my belly tightens like a fist.
“Y… you’re staring,” I stutter.
“I am,” he confirms with a nod.
No apology. Still not letting go. We just stand there, locked in place. His giant hand wrapped around mine, his golden eyes stuck to my face like I’m something he’s already decided on. He’s close enough that I can smell him…leather, cedar, and something warm under. Something distinctly male and clean that hits the back of my throat and makes my mouth water.
I can feel the heat coming off his body. Not from the sun, but from him. He radiates it. Like a furnace packed into six-plus feet of muscle and sun-kissed skin. It rolls over me in waves, and standing this close, I feel small. I’m a big girl… with hips, ass, thighs, and tits for days…and I rarely feel small next to anyone. But Beau Redding makes me feel delicate. Feminine.
And fucking wanted.
I clear my throat. “You planning on letting go at some point?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Eventually.”
Oh… okay, sir. My stomach does something stupid. His thumb shifts against the back of my hand…just barely, just a graze…and I feel it light up every nerve from my wrist to my spine. He moves like he knows exactly how to use his body. Like he never rushes because he doesn’t have to. His forearms are corded and veiny, with a dusting of dark hair over tanned skin. Pure porn.
And his gaze doesn’t wander. It holds. Bold as hell. Not just looking at me…reading me. Memorizing me. His golden eyesdrag slowly over my face like he’s cataloging every feature. My eyes. My mouth. The curve of my jaw. Then lower…just a flicker, just a beat…down to my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts in my shirt. Then back up. Unhurried. Unapologetic.
My pulse is hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it through our joined hands.
Then one of his brothers whistles behind him. “Beau, for fuck’s sake. You gonna give the lady her hand back?”
That breaks it. Sort of. He lets go. Slowly. His fingers drag across my palm as he releases me, and the last point of contact…his fingertips trailing over mine…sends a shiver up my arm so strong I have to lock my knees to stay upright. When his hand is finally gone, the heat from his palm stays on mine like a brand. I can still feel the ghost of his calluses. The weight of his grip. My hand tingles. Actually tingles. Like he left something behind on my skin.
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the pulsing between my thighs. “I’ll follow up this week. Get you our numbers.”
Mr. Redding returns his attention to me, nodding. “Sounds good, honey.”
Thank God he was busy talking to someone else while his son held me hostage with a handshake and a stare. I nod back, then turn on my heel before I do something stupid. Like turn around and jump Beau Redding in front of his entire family at a livestock fair.
