She didn’t want to do anything that would break this spell he was weaving.
Maybe it wasn’t love, but when Marshall spoke, she wanted to listen.
When he touched her, she wanted to melt into each caress.
When his arms wrapped around her, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Warm and safe.
They had agreed, whatever this was, it was temporary. Their eyes were open. And yet, a future without Marshall seemed…pretty bleak.
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. It was a good thing. Thoughts of the future were dangerous. They would raise hopes and put ideas in her head that probably weren’t practical or sensible. Best to enjoy the present, revel in what itmeant to be loved by her cowboy. She would have to trust that the future would have mercy on her heart.
When she opened the door, Marshall was the epitome of all her cowboy romance dreams. He held his light brown cowboy hat in his hands, his eyes taking her in. A smile teased her lips in response, and she twirled her dress.
“Do I look okay for our date?”
Marshall swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gravelly in admiration.
She frowned. “That’s it?”
“You look like I might not want to go anywhere after all,” he said, his eyes darkening as he moved into her space and gripped her hips, closing the space between them. He dipped his head, nuzzling the side of her neck, and goosebumps erupted all over her body. Involuntarily, she pressed her chest against his and shivered.
“You cold?” he asked. “Maybe you need a jacket.” He eyed the coat hooks behind her. Nodding, she reached for a long wool coat that complemented her dress. Stepping into the night, into the unknown, she tucked her hand into the arm of her handsome date, trusting to follow him wherever he led.
“So, where are you taking me?” she asked, turning her head to enjoy the way his beard was freshly trimmed and his navy shirt peeked out from beneath his quilted black Carhartt jacket. Her eyes ate up each inch of his face, landing on those lips that she wanted so desperately to taste again. His cheeks were tinged pink from the cool evening air.
Colette knew that if she nuzzled his neck, he would smell so good, nothing fancy, but a tempting mix of crisp deodorant and the outdoors.
“We’re going into town,” he explained, opening the passenger side door of his truck. “I’m going to show you the highlights of downtown Rosebud. I hope you like the theater.”
Colette took a big step and entered the truck, shuffling over on the seat to buckle her seatbelt.
“I haven’t been to the theater in so long,” she said. “This is going to be fun.”
The moment he sat in the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone.
“Tell me what you think of my music choices. Let’s just say, I’m not totally convinced that eighties music is better than country music.”
The beat-filled notes of one of her favorite songs began to play.
“Shut up.The Look of Love part one? Bold choice,” she said with a smirk, taking his phone and scrolling a finger through the list he had chosen. She snorted. “These are popular and catchy for sure, but not the best songs. I’ll convince you.” She flicked her gaze to his, his grin making her heart flop in her chest. Seduction by playlist? Colette couldn’t even.
Was he completely unaware of how much she wanted him?
She would overlook the selection of overly played songs and educate him on which songs were essential for his existence. He needed to know. Feel the sensation of emotion coursing through him. The longing, the obsession, and even the rejection. Eighties songwriters were like none other. She wouldn’t bore him with details about synthesizers, suspended chords, and operatic ballads. That was second date material.
She still wanted him to think she was normal.
“You pick a song, then I’ll pick one,” he challenged. “Then we’ll see which is more romantic.”
“Challenge accepted. Prepare to have your underwear melted off.” She pressed on one of her favorites; it was a little spooky, but the lyrics were romantic and devastating. Totally perfect.
“I submit ‘The Killing Moon’ for your consideration,” she said, watching him with rapt attention as he lightly bobbed hishead to the music. Her hand reached across the console, resting tentatively on his thigh.
“That’s interference,” he grumbled. “How can I separate the emotions evoked by the song from the ones created when you touch me?”
She licked her lips and squeezed, offering him a playful wink.
“I guess you’ll just have to deal with it. My hand isn’t going anywhere,” she said, her eyes tracing the horizon out the windshield, searching for the moon. This was the best song, hands down. If he didn’t feel it, she had other songs up her sleeve for sure.
