I planted my elbows on the table, paralyzed. If I moved, someone would notice the tilt of my hips. Or worse, one twitch would drag his fingers exactly where I wanted them, and my face would give us away.
By the time the serving dishes were empty, I might as well have run a marathon. Heat flushed my skin, and sweat gathered at the nape of my neck.
Brock finished everything, wiped his mouth, and dropped the napkin onto his plate. Under the table, his hand gave my thigh one final, punishing squeeze before slipping away.
He pushed back. The chair legs shrieked against the floorboards.
"Thanks for dinner, Sienna." His blue eyes caught mine. "That was incredible pasta."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "You're welcome."
He grabbed his hat from the peg. "Heading to the barn. Gonna check Nova's feed bucket before it gets dark. Someone needs to make sure Colt isn't sabotaging Wren's barrel times."
Colt pointed a half-eaten piece of garlic bread at him. "Hey, I measure the scoops!"
"Don't overdo the shoulder," Silas called.
"I won't."
Brock pushed through the back door. It slammed shut behind him.
I forced myself to sit there for twelve agonizing minutes. I drained a glass of ice water to cool my burning cheeks, then stood to clear the plates and load the dishwasher.
"I need some fresh air," I said, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "Gonna walk off that rigatoni."
"Take a flashlight if you go past the treeline," Silas warned.
"I will."
I slipped out the back door, forcing my legs into a slow, casual stroll.
The evening air bit at my flushed skin, and the sky bruised into deep purples over the Bighorns. I kept my pace steady across the gravel yard until the kitchen window dropped out of sight. Then I sprinted for the barn.
The heavy double doors stood open. Deep shadows swallowed the interior, heavy with the scent of sweet feed and oiled leather.
Brock wasn't checking Nova's feed bucket. He waited in the center aisle, leaning his good shoulder against a wooden support post. His hat sat low over his eyes.
My shoes hit the dirt floor. He reached out, caught my waist, and yanked me into the shadows against his chest.
My hands flew to his shoulders, fists knotting in his shirt.
"You are out of your damn mind."
"Took you long enough." His mouth hovered a breath from mine. His gaze dropped to the V-neck of my sundress. "Jesus, Sienna. This fucking dress."
"We agreed to be careful! You had your hand between my legs for twenty minutes!"
"I was careful." His hands slid down to grip my hips. "Nobody can see under that table. It's solid oak."
"That doesn't make it safe. I couldn't breathe, let alone eat!"
"You seemed to enjoy it just fine. You were squirming in your chair."
I glared up at him. My heart hammered a frantic beat against my ribs. "It was risky."
His eyes dragged down the pale yellow fabric. "I really like the dress. It's damn near impossible to keep my hands to myself when you wear something like that."
I crossed my arms, fighting the smile tugging at my lips and the heat pooling between my legs. "Oh, please. I wore a dress the first day I got here. You didn’t seem to like it then."
