Her lips part, and she draws in a slow breath that isn’t quite steady. She doesn’t turn away or deflect. She stands there and lets my words settle, and the moment isn’t lost on me.
"You're trouble, Charlie Hayden," she says, but her voice is soft, and the words carry no bite at all.
"The best kind, Sunshine."
She shakes her head, but the smile that breaks across her face is the real one.
We head back to the truck, and the drive home passes in a warm haze of easy conversation. "I've never actually been on a horse," she says, and the admission sounds like it costs her. "I've lived in Texas most of my life and I've never ridden one."
I gasp in mock horror. "That is completely unacceptable. We're fixing that. I've got a mare at the ranch who's gentle enough for a beginner and stubborn enough that you two will get along perfectly."
Her eyebrows lift, but the hesitant grin on her face tells me she's not opposed to the idea. "You're already planning my riding lessons and we haven't even finished the first date."
"I'm a forward thinker."
She rolls her eyes, but she's laughing, and I know I'll be thinking about the sound long after tonight is over.
Stone Creek appears in the distance, and the drive down her street feels shorter than it should. I pull up to the curb in front of her house and kill the engine.
"You don't have to walk me to the door," she says, already reaching for the handle.
"Gran would shoot me."
"You keep using your grandmother as an excuse for good manners."
I'm already out of the truck and around to her side. "She's a convenient scapegoat. Besides, you've met her. You know what she's capable of."
Sunny takes my hand as she steps down, and this time she doesn't let go. We walk up the short path to her porch and pause at the door. She turns to face me, and we're close enough that I can count the faint freckles across her nose. Her hand is still in mine.
"I had a really good time tonight," she comments.
"So did I." I brush a strand of hair from her face, and my fingertips graze her cheek. Her skin is warm, and her breath slows, and the space between us shrinks to inches. "Sunny."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to kiss you now. If that's not something you want, this is your chance to say so."
She doesn't say a thing, just tilts her chin and holds my gaze. The challenge in her eyes isn't a refusal, but permission.
I lean in and press my mouth to hers, slow and deliberate, giving her time to decide how much she wants. Her lips are soft, and she tastes like the wine we shared and something sweeter underneath. The contact sends a jolt through me that spreads through my entire body like a match dropped into dry grass. My hand finds the curve of her waist, steadying us both, and her fingers grip my arm.
For a moment, the whole world narrows to this. The warmth of her mouth. The hitch in her breathing. The way her body leans into mine by degrees, like the effort to hold herself back has finally become too much. I keep the kiss slow, thorough, letting it linger, because nothing about her makes me want to hurry this.
I pull back first, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have, because every nerve in my body is telling me to stay. Her eyes open slowly, wide and luminous, and for one second she looks at me with an expression that tells me every wall she's ever built is crumbling.
She stares for another beat, her lips still parted, her hand still gripping mine. Then she grabs the collar of my shirt, and pulls me back down.
The second kiss isn't slow. Her mouth finds mine with an urgency that catches us both off guard. The sound she makes against my lips hits hard, and everything tightens in me until my jeans start to feel a hell of a lot less forgiving. My arms wrap around her waist and drag her close. Her free hand slides to the back of my neck, and the heat between us flares bright enough that I can feel it in my bones.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her hand is still fisted in my collar, and my arms are still around her waist, and the six inches of air between us feels like the most charged space I've ever occupied.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," she whispers.
"I'm glad it did."
She laughs and lets go of my shirt. Her palm smooths the wrinkled fabric, a gesture so intimate and unconscious that it makes my heart pound harder than the kiss did.
"Goodnight, Charlie." She steps back, keys in hand, and unlocks her door. In the doorway, she pauses and looks at meover her shoulder. "Wednesday morning, eight o'clock. Don't be late."
