I arch an eyebrow. "That wasn't a question. I ain’t changed that much."
She steps closer. Which is a mistake, because now I can smell her. Vanilla and the faintest trace of that coconut shampoo she's been using since she was seventeen. My brain short-circuits. My body remembers things my heart is trying to forget.
"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Ace. You lost that privilege."
"I lost it?" I lean down. I’m way too close. Close enough that if she tilted her chin up, our lips would touch. "You took it, sweetheart. Along with everything else."
Her breath catches. I hear it. That tiny hitch. The same sound she used to make right before I kissed her. Right before she'd grab the front of my shirt and pull me in and whisperfuck me, cowboyagainst my mouth.
My jaw clenches, and I straighten up. Step back. Put distance between us before I do something I can't take back.
"Get in the truck," I say again. Quieter this time, taking a new approach for this new version of my soulmate. "Please."
It doesn’t matter which version of Harper stands in front of me at any given moment. I’d love her regardless. That is onesimple fact in my life: I will always love this woman. Even when I really don’t fucking want to. I do.
The please does something to her. I see it crack through that wall she's built, just a fracture, just a flash of the girl underneath who used to melt every time I remembered my manners. Because Harper has always been a sucker for a cowboy who knows when to say please.
"If I go to the ranch," she says slowly, "I need your word that this stays professional. I'm there for Hunter. For information. Not for—" She gestures between us. "This."
"This?"
Ouch. My hand rests over my chest, and I can’t help it.
"You know what I mean."
"Enlighten me," I say with a smirk.
Her eyes narrow. "Don't play dumb, Ace. It doesn't suit you."
"And playing cold doesn't suit you, Harps. But here we are."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"Fine. I'll get in your truck," she huffs.
Sassy Harper is the one who makes my dick nearly explode.
"Thank you."
Not allowing me to have the last word, she says, "But I'm choosing the music."
I almost smile. Almost. "You always did."
"And you're not going to talk to me on the drive."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"And stop calling me sweetheart. Or any cute names."
I know which one would hurt her most, calling herGoldie.
"No deal," I say.
She swallows.
I turn and walk out of the barn into the sunlight. I don't look back. I don't need to. I can hear her boots on the dirt behind me, and the sound is so familiar it nearly puts me on my knees.
I open the passenger door of my truck and hold it. She reaches the door and stops. We're side by side. Her shoulder an inch from my chest. Her eyes straight ahead. Mine on the side of her face.
