Page 33 of The Cowboy’s Forever Promise

“I’m so sorry …”

“Please don’t be. It wasn’t that bad. Besides, you don’t miss what you never had. It was during our years in foster care that I discovered I like tidying things. I like bringing order to chaos. So it became my job.”

Just then, the food came. While they were eating, a few people stopped at their table, clearly interested in the newcomer. Carson, always polite, introduced her to everyone.

The moment her plate was empty, though, he signaled the waiter for the bill. “May we please go home now?” he asked Abby.

Her heart rate picked up. She nodded.

*

By the time Carson stopped his truck in front of his house, Abby was just about hyperventilating. Throughout the meal, he’d found reasons to touch her, to lean over and say something in her ear, his warm breath heating her blood with every second.

Low in her belly, the embers that had never quite died down since Saturday night were smoldering. They’d stopped at the B & B so that she could pack a small bag and get the things she needed for June’s house.

Craig and Annie helped, but apart from their twinkling eyes, they fortunately hadn’t said anything. She wouldn’t have known how to respond anyway. How did she explain to anyone else how desperately she wanted to be with Carson if she didn’t understand this intense need herself?

“Have to warn you, the kitchen doesn’t look too bad,” Carson said as he opened the door of his truck, “but the bedroom …”

“You still have those midnight black sheets on your bed under all the clutter?” Was that husky voice hers?

Inhaling sharply, Carson stumbled out. Before she could move, he was at her side of the truck to help her down. Keeping a tight arm around her back, they walked toward his front door.

With every step, the flames burned higher, fiercer, so that by the time he’d opened the door, dragged her inside, and she quickly got rid of her jacket, she was burning up. Fumbling, she tried to fold it up.

Carson grabbed it from her hands and tossed it on a chair as he pulled his shirt over his head. “This is so not the time to do that, damn it.”

Their breaths labored, they stared at one another.

She stiffened. “It’s what I do.” Why was she insisting on organizing when all she wanted to do was jump his bones?

“Not. Now,” he growled. “I’m dying over here, and you want to stop to fold your jacket?”

With her eyes on his, she pulled the top over her head.

His gaze dropped before their eyes met again. His eyes were exactly what she’d imagined—hot, molten lava. “This what you bought?”

“Yes.”

With his eyes on her, he grabbed the camera behind him on the table. “Do you mind?”

“Seriously? You moan because I want to tidy up but you want to take a picture now?”

“Oh, yeah.” Grinning, camera in front of him, he clicked away.

Frustrated, she got hold of the belt on his jeans and pulled him closer. “I’m burning up wanting to be with you.”

As his smile faded, he put the camera down. “Abby, damn …” Bending down, he slid his mouth over the curve of her one breast before moving to the other. “I love … love that you’re so responsive.”

Incapable of speech, her head fell back.

Cupping her breast, his mouth closed over the silk, not quite on her naked skin, but the heat of his lips sent her blood crashing through her veins.

They couldn’t be more different. He didn’t say it, but her instinct to tidy obviously irritated him to no end. And seriously, she loved that he wanted to take pictures of her but not when she was burning up.

As her knees buckled, his lips found hers again—hot, eager, demanding. She wanted this man with a need that seriously scared her. Steeped in his scent, her senses reeling, her hands explored his muscled chest and shoulders as she reveled in his strength, his warmth, his roaming hands.

Pushing and shoving they finally got rid of the rest of their clothes and ended up rolling on a carpet.