Chapter ten
Abigail
Beau’skissisn’tgentleanymore.
His lips are warm and firm and demanding, moving against mine with an urgency that steals my breath away. I gasp into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his long sleeve—because, as usual, despite the frigid temperatures, the man refuses to dress accordingly—as he makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat that sends heat straight to my core.
God.
He smells like him. Like sunlight filtered through fresh air—warm, bright, and clean. Like the earth itself in its happiest form. It’s comforting in a way that makes my knees weak. And when his stubble scrapes against my skin, when his mouth tilts against mine as he tastes me, my entire body responds like it’s been waiting forhimto feel alive again.
His hand slides to my waist, and the other braces above my head against the beam between the stalls, caging me in completely.
Not trapping me.
Claiming me.
The post is solid at my back, but I barely register it–there’s too much of him. Beau crowds in close, boxing me in until there’s nowhere to go but into him. His breath is uneven as he kisses me, mouth moving against mine with intent, with purpose, and every sound he makes only makes me want him more.
I kiss him back just as fiercely.
I want him to know I’m here. That I want this. That I wanthim.
My hand slides up his chest, over muscle and warmth, and he shudders—actually shudders—breaking the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged breath.
“Abbie,” he murmurs, my name thick and desperate on his tongue.
The way he says it makes something inside me coil tight.
His forehead drops to mine for a heartbeat, breath fanning across my lips. Then, he kisses me again—slower this time. Deeper. “I love you,” he rasps against my lips.
My only response is a desperate whimper. I feel drunk off his touch, and all he’s done is kiss me.
It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
When he finally pulls back again, we’re both breathing hard, his eyes dark and focused on me.
Only me.
“Upstairs,” he says hoarsely. Not a question, but a command. “Before I lose what little control I’ve got left and fuck you right here.”
I raise a brow as my lips pull into a mischievous smile. “Well, now… that wouldn’t beso—”
He kisses me quickly, but before pulling away, he nips at my lower lip—silencing my sass in the most delicious way. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the narrow stairs at the back of the barn. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, pulse still racing, my body humming from where he touched me, and from where hehasn’ttouched me yet.
The office door barely clicks shut behind us before he reaches up and tugs his backwards cap off, tossing it across the room without a second thought. It hits the wall and drops to the floor as his hands find the hem of his shirt.
He peels it off in one smooth motion, muscles flexing as he does, that wide, boyish grin flashing across his face—except his eyes dance with hunger instead of humor. Still dark. And still locked on me.
I can’t help the laugh that slips out. “You sure are eager today, Mr. Saint John.”
“For you,” he says as he bites his lower lip while he prowls toward me like a lion stalking its prey. “Always.”
I can’t help but take one step back for every one he takes forward—wanting to stretch this moment out for as long as possible, to memorize him like this. The way his jeans dance along his hips with every step. The way his skin—tan despite the harsh winter—is dotted with goosebumps, not from the chill outside, but from the heat in here. And the low chuckle that rumbles deep in his chest as he shakes his head at my antics.
“Don’t tease me, Abigail,” he warns, stepping closer now. “You might regret it.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Linc—”
