Rio chuckled low and turned away, his boots leaving prints in the scattered hay. “Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I imagine you’ll figure it out,” Rio called back, his voice already fading toward the door.
“I can fire you, you know.”
“Keep telling yourself that one too.” The door swung open, let in a gust that cut straight through, then swung shut behind him.
Cole stood there a moment in the quiet. They weren’t going to fall in love. He’d been down that road and he knew exactly what it cost. Aftyn was leaving, that much was certain. Once she’d dealt with her sister, Clifton would be nothing but a memory to her.
He turned back toward the house and felt the warmth settle in his chest at the simple thought of her waiting inside and told himself it didn’t mean a thing.
After Cole showered, Aftyn took her turn. He wouldn’t have minded sharing, but they had a reservation to keep. Otherwise, he might have said to hell with it. He pulled on clean boxer briefs, dark jeans, and a red dress shirt, then reached for his good, distressed cowboy boots, the ones that only came out when looking presentable was actually required.
He was stamping his foot into the second one when the bathroom door opened on a rush of warm steam. Aftyn came out wrapped in a white towel that covered just enough and not a great deal more, water droplets catching the light on her bare shoulders, damp hair falling loose around her flushed face. She looked at him with that smile, and he felt his pulse kick hard.
“Nope,” he said.
“Nope what?” Her voice was easy, unhurried, and she kept walking toward him like she already knew how this was going.
“Nope to whatever you’re thinking. We can’t be late.”
“Spoilsport.”
“No argument there.” He pulled her in anyway, feltthe damp towel press against his shirt, and put his mouth to the side of her neck, breathing in the clean jasmine scent of her. “We could skip dinner,” he said against her skin.
“We could.” Her fingers found the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve been wanting to try this place. I’ve heard good things.” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Your shirt is wet now.”
“I’ll change it.” He stepped back with some effort and checked his watch. “I’ll be in the living room. Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.” She reached up to catch the towel where it had started to slip, and the look on her face told him she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Okay.” He unbuttoned the damp shirt, shrugged it off, and grabbed a fresh one from the closet, then pressed his lips to her forehead and let himself stay there a beat longer. Then he walked out, because if he didn’t do it now he wasn’t going to do it at all, the scent of her still on his mouth and the thought of that towel and the rumpled sheets behind him doing absolutely nothing to help.
****
Aftyn smiled to herself as she stepped into the royal purple lace panties and matching push-up bra, then pulled the black dress up over her curves. It fit exactly the way it was supposed to, ending two inches above her knees, leaving nothing to the imagination and everything to it at the same time. She stepped into the cobalt blue stilettos and turned to face the mirror above the mahogany dresser.
“This better knock your socks off, Cole Harrison.”
She drew a slow breath, opened the door, and walked to the living room. He was standing at the far wall with his back to her, looking out at the mountains. She cleared her throat softly.
He turned, and she watched it happen. His jaw tightened. Those green eyes moved over her from head to toe, unhurried, taking their time at her curves, and then he closed them like he needed a second to collect himself. When he opened them again, he crossed the room and stopped a few feet short of her.
“You look beautiful.” His voice came out low and rough around the edges.
“Thank you.” She felt the flush climb her neck anyway.
“The dress is something else.” His gaze dropped to her shoes and he swallowed. “But those shoes. Damn.”
She closed the remaining distance between them, heels clicking against the floor, and set her hands on his shoulders. Then she leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear, breathing him in.
“I’ll be keeping these on later,” she whispered, and caught his earlobe lightly between her teeth.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand, led her to the kitchen and helped her into her coat, then shrugged on his sheepskin and lifted his black Stetson from the peg by the door. They stepped out into the September cold, and it hit her like a wall. Cole settled his hat on his head and guided her down the steps to his truck, one hand steady at her elbow.
