She's stiff in the saddle at first. Shoulders tight, hands gripping the reins too hard. But gradually, incrementally, I watch her relax. Her hips start moving with Fancy's rhythm. Her spine loosens. By the time we reach the base of the ridge trail, she's almost loose.
Almost.
The trail climbs through mesquite and live oak. I don't push the pace. Just let the horses pick their way up while the sky goes from gray to pink to that impossible Texas gold.
We reach the top as the sun breaks over the valley.
Dismounting, I tie Ranger to a low branch and turn to help Sloane down. She's staring at the view, and I watch recognition hit her face. The way her eyes widen. The way her lips part.
"This is—" she starts.
"The same place." Stepping close to Fancy's side, I hold up my hand. "Come on."
She hesitates, then slides down, and I catch her waist to steady her. My hands span her sides, thumbs brushing her ribs, and the contact sends electricity straight to my cock. She gasps but doesn't pull away.
"You remember," I say. Not a question.
She nods. Her hands are on my shoulders, and we're standing too close, the same air between us. The sun's in her hair, turning it gold at the edges, and I observe the exact moment she stops fighting.
"Cash, that was a long time ago—"
"Not for me."
She tries to step back. I don't let her. Just tighten my grip on her waist and wait for her to meet my eyes.
"I've thought about you every day for seventeen years," I tell her. The words scrape out rough and true. "Every single day. You think two weeks is enough to undo that?"
Her eyes go wide. "What do you want from me?"
"Everything."
The word hangs there. Absolute. No room for negotiation.
She shakes her head. "You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do." Cupping her face with one hand, my thumb brushes her cheekbone. "I let you leave once because I thought I was holding you back. Biggest mistake of my life. I'm not making it again."
"Cash—"
Three seconds. I give her three seconds to pull away. She doesn't. So I kiss her.
Slow at first. Just a press of lips, a question. Then she makes a sound, a half-gasp, half-surrender, and opens for me. I deepen the kiss, tasting coffee and something sweeter, something that'sjust her. My other hand slides to her lower back, pulling her flush against me, and she melts into it.
This isn't like seventeen years ago. That was urgent and young and desperate. This is claiming. Patient and absolute. I'm forty-five years old, and I know exactly what I want, and what I want is her.
She kisses me back like she's been drowning and I'm air. Her hands fist in my shirt, and I feel her blood thrumming wildly against my palm. When I finally pull back, we're both gasping.
My pulse pounds in my ears, and I have to lock my knees to stay upright. She's trembling in my arms, and I rest my forehead against hers, giving us both a moment to recover. Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt, and I cover her hands with mine.
"Two weeks, Sloane. That's all I'm asking. Give me two weeks, and I'll prove this is real."
"And if you can't?" Her voice shakes.
"Then you go back to whatever you left in Seattle, and I'll spend the rest of my life knowing I tried."
She's softer now than she was at twenty-one. She has curves where there weren't any before. I want to map every inch, learn the new geography of her body the way I memorized the old one. The thought makes my hands tighten on her waist, and she shivers.
Finally, she whispers, "Okay."
