"We got three more companies asking about the program," I say against his mouth.
"Can we handle it?"
"We'll need to hire more guides. Maybe two." My fingers find the hem of his shirt, sliding underneath to feel warm skin and the defined muscles of his abdomen. "Which means we need to discuss the expansion again."
His hands tighten on my hips, and his heartbeat steadies against my palm. "Now?"
"The call with the investors got moved." I rise on my toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "They can't do it until tomorrow. So we have time."
"Time for what?"
"To celebrate." My palms flatten against his chest, feeling his pulse jump under my touch. "We're building something real here. Something that'll outlast us. I want to mark that."
Fire flares in his gaze, the muscle in his jaw jumping, his grip on my waist turning possessive. He backs me against the desk, hands gripping my thighs to lift me onto the surface, and papers scatter to the floor. His mouth finds mine again, harder this time, and I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. My heartbeat steadies where his thumb presses against my inner wrist, counting the rhythm.
"You're going to wrinkle the contracts," he says against my lips.
"I don't care." My fingers work the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. "Kiss me again like you did that first morning on the ridge. Like you've been waiting nearly two decades and you're never letting go."
He does, taking his time to map the geography of my mouth while his hands slide under my tank top to cup my breasts through my bra. The calluses on his palms rasp against the soft cotton, and electricity shoots straight down my spine to my pussy.
My phone rings. Both of us freeze, my fingers still twisted in his hair, his palm burning against my ribs.
"Ignore it," I breathe.
"It's Lucinda." He pulls back, and frustration darkens his expression. His mouth is pressed thin, and he’s breathing hard. "She wouldn't call unless—"
Grabbing the receiver, I answer with my free hand still fisted in his shirt. "Hey there, Lucinda."
"Sorry to interrupt." Her voice is apologetic but amused. "Andrea needs to talk about her schedule. Can you come to the lodge?"
My heartbeat steadies against my ribs, and Cash's hand hasn't moved from under my shirt. "Give me two minutes."
Hanging up, I meet his gaze. His shirt's half unbuttoned, his hair mussed from my fingers, and the bulge in his jeans is obvious enough to make blood rush to my face.
"Rain check," I tell him.
"Tonight." Not a question, but a promise. He helps me off the desk and straightens my tank top with hands that linger on my waist, thumbs stroking the curve of my hips. "After dinner. Our place."
"Our place" means the ridge, the spot where he first kissed me and where we ride three times a week now because some rituals are too important to break.
That evening, we ride to the ridge as the sun starts its descent. The horses know the path without guidance, and I let Fancy pick her way up through mesquite and live oak while Cash rides beside me on Ranger. His hand finds mine between our saddles, fingers lacing together, and we climb toward the overlook in comfortable silence.
At the top, he dismounts first and helps me down. His hands linger on my waist longer than necessary, and when I look up, hunger burns in his gaze with the same intensity from the office but deeper now. Unrushed, like we have all the time in the world to come undone together.
We sit on the boulder and watch the sun paint the valley with a Texas sunset. His arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me against his side, and I fit there exactly right, as though my body was designed for this configuration.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" I ask.
"When you were twenty-one." His fingers trace patterns on my shoulder through my shirt. "You were wearing a sundress, hair down around your shoulders. You looked at the sunrise like you'd forgotten beauty existed."
The specific memory sends a pang of nostalgia through me. That he kept the details, that I mattered enough to remember. "What about a few months ago? When you brought me here after that first ride?"
"You were terrified and trying so hard to hold it together." He turns to look at me, and vulnerability flickers across his face before he can hide it. "I knew then I wasn't letting you go. Even if you ran. Even if you fought. I'd wait as long as it took."
My voice catches, and I have to swallow twice before words come. "Thank you for waiting. For remembering. For not letting me run."
"You don't have to thank me for loving you." His palm cups my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done."
