I glance one last time over my shoulder. And he’s still watching. Leaning against the booth now, one hip cocked, arms crossed over that massive chest. His golden eyes tracking me through the crowd. And his thumb…that same thumb that grazed the back of my hand…brushing slow over his full bottom lip. Like he’s already imagining what I taste like.
Oh. My. God.
I am not doing this. I am divorced. My kids are grown. I’ve got a ranch to run and zero interest in catching feelings…or any other part of a man. Especially one who looks like he’s younger than me, is the incarnation of sin in denim, and probably leaves a trail of ruined women behind him. A man who looked at me like he already had me in every filthy way.
I’ve done the whole thing. The marriage, the kids, the house with the big yard. I gave years of my life to a man who thanked me by fucking someone else and then making me fight for every scrap in the divorce like I was the one who broke us. Not doing it again. I don’t care how hot he is or how good his hands feel or how that low voice scraped against something inside me that I thought was dead.
Nope. Not happening.
The drive home feels longer than it should. I have the AC cranked to the max, but my skin’s still too warm. My hand is still tingling. I keep flexing my fingers on the steering wheel like I can shake the feeling of him off me. I can’t. His touch is seared into my palm. And I can still smell him…leather and cedar and that warm, clean, male scent…like it followed me into the car. Like it’s living in my clothes now.
And I can’t stop replaying that moment. Beau’s hand swallowing mine. His rough thumb grazing my skin. His gold eyes locked on me like nothing else existed. The heat pouring off his massive body. The way his deep voice made my chest vibrate and my pussy clench. How his gaze dropped to my mouth, and I stopped breathing.
By the time I pull up to the ranch, my pulse has mostly calmed down. I take a long shower, standing under the spray way longer than necessary. I close my eyes and he’s right there. His golden eyes. That square jaw with the stubble I want to feel on my skin. His huge, rough hands. The width of his shoulders. The way he smelled up close…warm and woody and male and sogoddamn good I wanted to press my face into his neck and just breathe.
I picture him towering over me. His big body blocking out everything else. His calloused fingers on my face. My waist. Sliding lower…
I force myself to cut the fantasy short. Turn the water cold. It barely helps.
I pull on pajama shorts and a tank top, pour myself a tall glass of fresh lemonade, and sit on the porch swing like I’ve done a thousand times. Surrounded by the sound of crickets. A little breeze. The smell of hay and honeysuckle. Peaceful.
But my skin is still humming. My hand still feels marked. And every time the breeze hits my bare legs, I think of the heat that rolled off Beau’s body when he stood close enough to touch.
You’re being stupid, Ina. The man just looked at you. Held your hand too long. That’s it. You’ve been married, divorced, and rebuilt your entire life from scratch. A handshake from a pretty cowboy shouldn’t have you sitting on this porch with wet panties and a racing heart.And yet, here we are.
The porch swing creaks under me. The heat’s cooler now. I sip my drink and force my brain to be rational. Beau Redding was a ripple. That’s all. The cattle breeding process won’t even start for months. I can wait for my father to come back and handle the whole thing. I might never have to see that man again.
When I hear tires on gravel, I glance up. A big black truck is rolling up the driveway. I sit up straight. My heart slams. My thighs press together. Because even before I see the driver, my body already knows.
The truck stops. The door opens. And Beau freaking Redding steps out of it.
Two
Ina
My heart knows before my brain does. I stand. My lemonade sitting on the railing, forgotten. My breath caught somewhere in my chest. The porch light throws Beau’s shadow across the steps as he approaches. He’s even bigger in the low light. Broader. His black tee stretches over his chest like it’s begging for mercy, jaw set, golden eyes burning.
He doesn’t say a word. Just climbs the stairs slowly, like this is his place. His eyes never leave mine. Not when he reaches the top step. Not when he takes the last two strides that close the distance between us.
He’s close enough now that his scent hits me. Leather. Cedar. Warm skin. It floods my senses, and my knees go soft before he even touches me.
“Beau, what are you…?” I don’t finish my sentence.
He lifts his hand and cups the back of my neck. Big palm. Rough fingers. No hesitation. His calloused skin is hot against my nape, his thick fingers threading into my hair, his thumbpressing into the soft spot below my ear. Then his mouth is on mine. Hot. Slow. Demanding.
I let out a sound that’s half gasp, half whimper and clutch his shirt because I’d hit the floor without it. The cotton is warm and damp, and I can feel the hard wall of his chest under…the ridges of muscle shifting as he pulls me closer. He tastes addictive. His tongue slides inside my mouth, and I forget my own damn name.
I should pull back. Say something. Tell him I don’t do this. That he can’t just show up here and kiss me like he’s waited his whole life to do it.
But I don’t do any of that. My brain is long gone. I part my lips and let him take whatever the hell he wants.
He groans, low and rough…a sound I feel in my nipples, my belly, my clit…and his other hand finds my hip and grips hard. His fingers dig into my flesh like he’s holding back something wild deep inside him. I can feel the size of his hand spanning my hip, his thumb pressing into the bone, his fingers curling around to my ass. So big. So sure.
I manage to break the kiss, just enough to breathe. My eyes focus on his face. His lips are wet from me, jaw clenched, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. He looks like a man barely holding on.
“Beau…”
“Want me to stop?” he asks in a voice so hoarse it scrapes against my skin.
