His fingers brush against mine, and my hand turns instinctively, fitting into his, my pulse jumping when his fingers tighten around me. His thumb traces across my knuckles slowly. It’s such a small gesture, but it makes my breath catch.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, even though okay doesn’t begin to cover it. Okay doesn’t explain the way my entire body feels like it’s been rewired, like something dormant inside me has woken up and refuses to go back to sleep.
My hands slide up his chest, gripping the front of his shirt. He responds immediately, his hands finding my waist, pulling me firmly against him. I rise onto my toes as he dips his head, and our lips meet. It’s not hesitant or careful. It’s hungry. His mouth moves against mine with a kind of restrained urgency that makes my knees weak. I tighten my hold on his shirt to steady myself, feeling the solid heat emanating from him beneath the worn cotton.
His hand slides from my waist to the nape of my neck, tangling briefly in my hair as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss and stealing my breath in the best possible way. My heart pounds so hard, I’m certain he can notice it through the layers between us.
I kiss him back with equal hunger, meeting his need, even as his lips soften and slow. The kiss turns less urgent and moreconsuming. His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, and a shiver ripples through me.
I could stay here.
I could stay here forever.
But reality awaits us, just over the rise.
He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing harder than we should be from a kiss, it not being enough for either of us.
His mouth curves slightly. “C’mon, wildfire,” he urges, his voice roughened in a way that makes my stomach dip. “We have to head in. We can’t set up camp this close.”
“You’re the one who stopped.” I huff a soft laugh, though it comes out more like a reluctant sigh.
“You didn’t complain.” His grin widens as he arches a brow, and for a second, he looks younger.
I press one last quick kiss to his lips, then step away before I can change my mind.
Climbing back into the saddle feels harder than it should. Daisy shifts beneath me, sensing my distraction, and I smooth a hand along her neck to steady both of us. Easton follows suit, and we ride side-by-side toward the ranch.
The closer we get, the more my stomach tightens. It’s ridiculous. I’ve faced worse than a handful of curious looks, but this feels different.Vulnerable. I don’t know what we are yet, and that uncertainty presses on me with every hoofbeat that brings us closer to home. Easton glances at me as we crest the hill.
We’re in this together.
Deacon is the first to notice our arrival. He strides away from the barn as we approach, relief etched across his face so plainly, my chest aches. “Thank God,” he calls out, running a hand through his hair. “With that storm, I’ve been worried sick.”
Guilt pricks at me, even though I know we were safe. Safer than I’ve felt in a long time, if I’m honest. “I’m fine,” I say quickly, sliding down from Daisy. The words slip out, smooth and simple. “Easton took good care of me.”
Real good care of me.
The shack flashes in my mind, uninvited. The deluge of rain against the tin roof, how he commanded my body, and the way the world shrank to just the two of us. The memories curl low in my stomach, and heat floods my cheeks before I can stop it. I quickly busy myself with Daisy’s reins before anyone can notice.
Deacon claps Easton’s shoulder, murmuring something about the tack room. Easton nods and follows him without hesitation, falling into work mode easily. And just like that, the charged bubble around us dissipates.
Knox is leaning silently against the fence, his arms crossed and grin entirely too knowing, “Well,” he finally drawls. “You look… rested.”
I shoot him a glare that would send lesser men running. Knox just grins wider. “Don’t start.”
“Who’s starting?” he asks innocently. “So… You and Easton, huh?”
I swear, Knox has some weird sixth sense about secrets.
“You’re insufferable.” I shove at his shoulder.
“And you didn’t answer.”
I lift my chin defiantly and snark, “Has Jess gotten you to propose yet?” I only hope to change the topic of conversation, but my question wipes the smirk clean off his face.
Knox scowls. “You could’ve told me she was crazy.”
