My stomach drops.
Get a grip, girl. Oh yeah, I know what I’d like to grip.
No. No. No. I will not let myself want to ride that cowboy.
Didn’t I tell the sheriff I’d stay out of trouble?
I can’t work the rodeo with hot, sexy Kannen because I would be so tempted. Which I can’t do. I promise myself I absolutely will behave.
Even though he’s snug-jeans gorgeous. Even though he has that rock hard body.
I bite the inside of my lip.
My brain swears I’ll keep that promise. Of course I will. No problem.
Then Kannen shows up.
Chapter 2
Kannen
When I reach the place Stormy’s renting, my heart starts galloping. It always does when I think about her.
There she is standing in her doorway. She’s stop-dead-in-my-tracks beautiful with curves like a hallelujah-hot-damn.
I’m not ashamed admitting I’m a goner for a woman I’ve only had a handful of conversations with. Though I’ve been friends with Jude, Stormy’s brother-in-law, since high school, I never got to know her.
And if I’m being honest with myself back then I was afraid to try. I wanted to cling to the hope that there could be a someday rather than get rejected. By the time I convinced myself to just go for it, she was dating.
But the day I heard she was free from her ex, I celebrated. Since then I’ve been waiting, biding my time for her hurt to heal.
Every now and then I see her ex in town. He swaggers around thinking he’s really something, but I see a man who’s in for a world of regret once he pulls his head out of his ass and realizes what he lost.
I walk onto the porch and Stormy steps aside to let me in.
I sweep off my Stetson and glance around the living room.
The furniture is covered with drop cloths, and the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. The late 1940s built house still has the original hardwood floors. The wood trim around the windows and doors hasn’t been replaced either. Houses like these were built to last.
Stormy moves across the floor to open one of the windows higher. “Sorry, we only used samples, but the smell is strong even with all the windows open. I probably stink of paint, too.”
No. You smell like this man’s dream. “It’s fine,” I tell her looking down into her pretty brown eyes.
She holds my gaze while a clock on the wall ticks through the silence then her eyes drift to my lips for a few seconds before she spins around.
I hear her take a deep breath before she pulls out the hair claw holding her hair back. She finger-combs it, then scoops it back up.
She’s wearing a short black T-shirt with a cowboy on a horse and the phrase Not My First Rodeo across her chest. Her frayed denim shorts are low rise showing off the tan skin above the button. I think about how her waist would feel in my hands.
Dried paint decorates her forearms, and a few spots are on her face.
“I know I’m a mess,” she says. “My sisters and I were joking around with the paintbrushes, and it got a little competitive.”
She looks around the room and then grabs a container of wet wipes. When she cleans the paint off her face, she misses a spot.
“I’ll get it,” I say, taking the wipe from her. I hold her chin still with one hand. And that’s a mistake. Because she’s soft and warm and I start getting hard and hot.
I concentrate on the paint, wiping carefully while slowly getting harder and hotter.
