by Anne Jolin
When she doesn’t answer, I begin to worry that I pushed her too far or upset her. So I turn around, but she’s smirking at me.
“You didn’t answer me.” I frown.
“Momma said if you don’t have anything nice to say, best not to say anything at all.”
I have only a split second to be confused before the cold spray from the hose hits my chest, and it’s followed by the sweetest giggle angels have ever heard.
Running a hand over my face and up into my hair, I shake some of the water off my body. “You did not just spray me with the hose,” I rumble.
Cocking her perfectly arched eyebrow at me, she fights against the smile tugging her full lips. “I thought you could use a cold shower.”
My boots, soaked and heavy, are stalking towards her before the sane part of my brain is able to keep up.
“Uh-uh,” she stammers, backing towards Achilles.
I crowd her space until the top of her shoulders are pressed against her horse’s side. “You’re playing with fire,” I bark.
“Well, actually, if we’re being technical, I was playing with water, but . . .” Her voice trails off when my arms cage her in on either side of her honey-colored hair.
Water drips from my chest onto hers as my faces inches lower. “So clever.”
“Mm-hm,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering from my lips to my eyes repeatedly.
Rocking my hips against hers, I make her feel how badly I want her. While the teasing is fun, I have no intention of misleading her. She is mine and I will claim her body entirely.
Her fingers trail over my stomach muscles, spread across the planes of my chest, and eventually lace together behind my neck, pulling me closer. By now, both of our bodies are soaked from having been pressed so tightly together. I can feel her nipples through her shirt every time her chest heaves, and the anticipation is wreaking havoc on my system.
I lower my head and cup her face with my hand. “You’re everything, London.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but the feel of her against me has my restraint barely contained.
My nose brushes hers as she waits in anticipation for our lips to touch. My eyes close, too. I want nothing more than to be overwhelmed by the touch and taste of her sweet kiss for the first time.
“What the hell?”
My head pulls back, recognition flooding as I swing to find a glaring cowboy twisting the knob on the hose, which has apparently began to flood the area. It was forgotten due to more pressing matters.
Speaking of which . . . I do my best to adjust myself subtly before speaking.
“We were just giving the horses a bath,” London giggles, stepping around me. Her wet shirt is clinging to her in the front like a second skin.
The cowboy, whose name I seem to have misplaced, crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. “Yes, that’s exactly what it looked like,” he smarts off. “Jesus, Bridge. Dad or anyone else working here could have seen you. Pull your head out of your ass.”
“Watch your tone,” I grumble, dragging London back against my front by her waist—both to have her close to me and hopefully hide my excitement our little water fight brought on.
He opens his mouth to likely give me a piece of his mind, but my girl beats him to the punch.
“Everything is fine, Owen. We have no reason to play hide and seek with whatever this”—she looks up at me hesitantly, and I nod for reassurance—“might be. I’m a grown adult, fully capable of making her own decisions and mistakes.”
I wince a little at the insinuation that I might be anything but good for her, but now is not the place to address it. Not when I’m soaking wet and sporting a hard-on in front of her brother.
Walking towards us, he outstretches his hand. “I don’t believe we had a chance to be formally introduced yesterday. Owen Daniels.”
Around London, I put my hand in his. “Branson Tucker.”
“I figured,” he responds, firmly shaking my hand.
“Well, not that this hasn’t been delightfully awkward, but I think we are going to get back to washing the horses now.” London laughs. There’s no nervousness in her voice despite the words she used, and it feels good to be backed by such a confident woman.
“Don’t waste the water.” He nods towards the flooded area. “It’s still summer. You should know better than that.”
She agrees before he turns his attention towards me.
“Can I see you for a minute?” he asks.
“Sure thing.” I drop a brief kiss on her forehead and follow him towards the edge of the barn.
He leans his frame, which is much bulkier than mine, against the wall and tips the edge of his hat towards his sister. “I don’t know what your deal is, Richie Rich, and I don’t care. You treat her right, we’re good as gold.”
I start to answer him, but he shakes his head, waving me off.
“But let there be no mistake. You break her heart, Tucker, and I’ll break your face.”
WE SPENT A GOOD HOUR and a half washing the horses, and while I’ll admit I hadn’t been super keen on the idea at the time, it grew on me. It was as close as I’d been to Achilles emotionally since my fall, and it was uniquely reviving for my soul to connect with him in some way.
Branson was chatty, asking me questions about riding and some of our old horses, and as our conversation had done so last night, it moved to stories about my mother. It was brilliant to talk about her with someone new.
He has such eloquence in the way he makes me feel so very much, while making it so very easy to do so. With other people, it feels as if they had a microscope on me, desperate to weed out the flaws and insecurities before investing too much in you. But Branson praises my accomplishments, worships my flaws, and battles my insecurities.
Branson is beginning to feel less like a separate entity and more an extension of my own soul. Whatever hearts are made of, ours are meant to walk hand in hand with ease.
Though, all grace and ladylikeness aside, I could have punched Owen right in the throat when he came around. I’d never expected in a million years that soaking my cowboy would lead to what it did, but I was desperate for a kiss and I was about to get it. I could feel his breath on my lips, the hardness of his chest against mine, and then . . .
And then, Owen—with older brother heroism rolling around—had to ruin it.
Hell in a hand basket.
“Ready?”
Stepping out of the feed room, I smile as I see him coming down the barn aisle. His clothes have mostly dried from the heat of the sun, but I am sad that his shirt is covering his torso again. He spent most of the afternoon helping around the barn with various chores, as I had assured him I could not abandon Aurora and Owen again.
“Ready for what?” I question.
He’s nearly halfway to me when Charlotte steps out of her office.
“Branson, is that you?” she singsongs.
It takes a pathetic amount of restraint on my part not to cover my ears in irritation.
She shimmies her petite frame across the space and rests a hand on his bicep. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. I saw the truck outside,” she purrs.
Of course you have.
I consider rescuing him from her, but although I’m certain it would make me feel good, he’s a grown man and had best learn how to handle that one on his own. So, instead, I lean against one of the stall doors and settle in to watch the show, as I’m certain she hasn’t seen me yet—otherwise, her mood would be far less ecstatic.
His eyes snap up to mine, and I shrug as if to say, You’re on your own with that one. She’s nattering on about herself, and when he rolls his eyes, I have to bite my lip to keep the laughter from bubbling up my throat.
“I’m on a bit of a time constraint, Charlotte. Is there anything you need with specific regards to the horses?” he questions her, and the fight to keep a straight face is evident on his handsome features.
He handles her well, and while I dislike her, I am entir
ely comfortable with his behavior around her. I have no reason to act irrationally, nor do I have any claim to him.
“Oh no!” she gasps. “Is that because of the break-in last night? Goodness. I can’t believe I forgot to ask. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
My eyes flare up at the news. I make a mental note to discuss it with him later.
“I’m well. Thank you for asking.”
She pats his arm dramatically, which causes me to shake my head.
“I actually have to get going. You see, I promised the pretty lady standing over there I’d take her on a date this afternoon and”—he checks his watch—“that’s a promise I intend on keeping.”
Her brown braid flips to the side as her eyes find me over her shoulder. If looks could kill. “Oh, London. It’s so nice to see you,” she lies through her professionally whitened teeth.
Not wanting to be rude, because I was raised to be polite—most of the time, anyway—I push off the wall and come to stand with them. “Charlotte.” I nod just as Branson drapes an arm over my shoulders.
“Is there anything you need?” he asks her.
“No, Branson—”
“Mr. Tucker,” he corrects her.
Her jaw clenches in frustration, which makes me feel a little bad for her. It’s obvious in her body language that this is something more for her, or perhaps it had been in the past and the formality bothers her. Even so, this is her job, and I imagine that, if she disliked it so terribly, she could easily find another one.
“No, Mr. Tucker. The horses are fine.”
“Very well. Have a good evening.”
I admire his professionalism and say a small blessing that he feels no need to pit us against each other.
Hank Green did that to Susie Pickler and me in the tenth grade, and Lord love a duck, I swore on that day I’d never spend time with a man who felt women should compete for his attention. That, and Hank Green ate so many tomatoes I swear it’s what turned his hair red.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
As he taps my ass, he winks at me. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“I think I’m at my quota of surprises and letdowns for the day, cowboy. Spill.”
“Not a chance.” His playful side has been out to play today.
I’m quickly becoming fond of it. Either that, or I find it delightfully insufferable.
“I’m going to take a quick shower in the lounge and change out of these clothes,” he says. “I’ll meet you by the truck in thirty minutes.”
As per usual, he doesn’t give me any time to answer before his tight ass in blue jeans is disappearing into the lounge.
It doesn’t take me long to shower, and within the allotted thirty minutes, I’ve changed into blue jeans, a white tank top, and flip-flops. It’s casual, but it’s me. And if he wanted me to dress nicer, I assume he’d have mentioned it. I don’t bother blow drying my hair. The August heat will dry it quickly, and having been blessed with Momma’s straight hair, I very rarely need to style at all.
When I walk out of the barn, I see him leaning against the hood of his truck, talking on the phone, and pinching the bridge of his nose. As I get closer, I pick up on the distress in his voice, and the hairs on my arms stand up in response.
“That’s unacceptable. If someone doesn’t find him, there will be hell to pay. Am I making myself clear? This is a risk I’m not willing to take. Get it done.” He pounds the end button on his screen, the change in his body language startling me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
As his eyes find mine, they soften. “It will be.”
“Is this about the break-in?”
He seems to have misplaced the knowledge of how I came to know that, so I quickly find myself stammering.
“I overheard Charlotte asking you about it,” I clarify.
After pushing off the truck, he stops in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. “It’s nothing to worry about, angel. They didn’t take anything. That was the tech calling now. It seems the system was accessed by an employee we let go earlier this week.”
“As long as you’re okay.”
Kissing me lightly on the forehead, he smiles. “I’m good. Are you and your friend ready to go?”
“My friend?” I ask, terribly confused.
He nods in the direction of my hand. “Your ass pillow.”
Ah—and the funny guy is back.
I HELP HER INTO THE truck, winking as she settles onto the ass pillow. “Comfortable?” I smirk.
She glares in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I laugh, buckling her in safely before rounding the truck and settling in behind the steering wheel.
It’s as if she doesn’t even have to try. Just being around her makes me feel as though I haven’t got even the slightest of cares in the world.
In all actuality, I do. I have a disgruntled former employee breaking into my building and an upcoming sit-down with the police—something I’m looking forward to. But that is tomorrow, and here, with her, there’s nothing but plentiful happiness.
“Where are we going?” she asks, always curious.
Adjusting the rearview mirror, I back the truck up before swinging out onto the long driveway. Truthfully, we could have walked from the barn to where we are going, but with her injuries and my haste to get there, it didn’t seem ideal.
Placing a finger to my mouth, I whisper, “It’s a secret.”
“You’ve really got the mysterious cowboy thing down, don’t you?” Her voice is teasing, but I can tell it irritates her that she doesn’t know what’s happening.
I reach across the middle console, lacing our fingers together and bringing them to my lips. “I think I wear my heart on my sleeve where you’re concerned, angel.”
A sweet blush stains her fair cheeks as I turn off into the west field. “We’re staying on the property?” She words it like a question, but it’s not. “I know where we are going!” she beams excitedly, looking out the window as if it’s not the same land she grew up admiring.
So cute.
I drive across the field until we disappear into a cluster of trees, which eventually clears and gives way to a small lake. The area is magical in itself, but what I have planned ought to make it even more so, especially when the sun goes down.
I back the truck up so the bed is facing the water’s edge and shift it into park. “Wait here,” I tell her, cutting the engine.
I know she’ll be able to see me doing it, but for some reason, I have this urge to impress her with the finished idea, so I move like an excited child to set it up.
The mattress is already in the bed of the truck, but it takes me a few minutes to gather the blankets and pillows from the backseat and position them into the makeshift couch I’ve created. Once that’s done, I walk to the small fishing shed and look for the outlet Aurora told me about. When I plug it in, the white twinkle lights that run along the roofline come to life. So does the little radio playing country music from the window.
It looks like a country paradise, pure and simple.
After jogging back to the truck, I help her down, and my heart swells when she beams up at me.
“This is so cute.”
“I have my moments.”
Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses my cheek. “Very frequently, it would seem.”
After helping her up onto the tailgate, I grab the wine and two glasses. When I join her in the bed of the truck, I pour us each a cup and then lift my glass up to hers for a toast.
“Here’s to first dates.”
After clinking her cup with mine, she takes a delicate sip, and the rumble in my chest comes unexpectedly as she swallows the wine.
As if on cue, the radio changes, and the first twangs of Jackson Young’s “If It Ain’t Too Much To Ask” drift out across the lake.
After we set our cups down on the edge of the truck bed, her arms wrap around my neck. My palm splays over her lower back
as I tuck the sweetness of her body against mine.
“You makin’ it a habit of wooing me with your dancin’ skills, cowboy?” She laughs, and the way it mixes with the song has to be the most heavenly thing I’ve ever heard.
My cheek brushes hers as we dance closer. “That depends.”
“On?” Her breath whispers against my ear.
“If it’s working or not.”
She laughs again, and with God as my witness, I’m a lucky bastard to be holding her right now. “It might be,” she teases.
Her body was made for mine. Pressed together, we’re even more perfect. Strawberry wine dousing our inhibitions in wild desire.
The chorus to the song is coming up, and knowing I don’t suck at least half as much as she does, I sing softly into her ear, albeit still out of tune. She joins me, singing adorably off tune into my ear. “I know it ain’t an easy life, people can tell you that”—She hums along, folding her body closer around mine—“but to ask for a little bit, just a little bit back, If it ain’t too much to ask. .”
“If it ain’t too much to ask,” her voice sings adorably off tune into my ear.
I chuckle, and she reaches down to elbow me in the side before her eyes find mine once again.
“If it ain’t too much to ask, cowboy . . . I could really go for that kiss right about now.” She tries to sing along with the song, but by adding her own words, she fails miserably.
But it’s the thought that counts.
Do I hate that she felt she had to ask for it? Bet your ass I do. Will it stop me from giving her what she wants? Not a chance in hell.
Tipping my invisible cowboy hat towards her with one hand, I put the other in the hair at the base of her neck. “Nothing you ask will ever be too much, London.” With that, I give in to the greatest temptation I’ve ever had and every desire I’ve ever dreamed of.
It’s only with unique restraint that I’m able to keep my lips from fully crashing down onto hers. Instead, I take her softly, certain I’ve died and gone to heaven at the first taste of her. When she whimpers, the greed in me takes the opportunity to slip my tongue into her mouth, claiming all she’ll give me. Her hands pull at the base of my neck, desperate to have me closer as the heat in our kiss grows deeper as the song comes to a close.
