Page 45 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

“You could.”

Their eyes met. This felt dangerous. Quite dangerous. Because this was another thing they hadn’t done these last years. They hadn’t gotten to know each other. They knew each other in the sense that they saw each other around. She knew the quality of man Boone was because she saw the way he interacted with other people. Because they chatted in passing at different things when it couldn’t be avoided, and they did their very best to never be self-conscious about the sparks between them. To never draw too much attention to all of it.

But they didn’t do this. They didn’t sit and have heart-to-hearts. They didn’t talk about his dead sister or his missing brother. Maybe she had started it, trying to push him away by telling him about her childhood. It hadn’t worked. And now she knew about his, and that was close to having a connection. It was close to something she should be avoiding. And definitely something she shouldn’t want.

Definitely not.

“Yeah. But, why? I’d rather kiss you.”

“That’s probably not a great idea.” But she was already leaning in, and when he kissed her, it was almost tender. Nearly sweet.

It could never be entirely tender, though, because there was an edge to the meeting of their mouths that she thought not even time would take away.

It was the wanting. And how long they’d lived with it.

But tonight, there was something glorious about it. An ache fueled by how much she wanted him, and by knowing tonight she couldn’t have him. Because she needed to get back to the cottage, needed to get back to the girls.

Because one thing she really couldn’t afford was for her daughters to discover she wasn’t home. For them to wonder where she was.

So he was forbidden again, but only for a few hours. There was something illicit, in a glorious way, about that.

A fun way because it wasn’t impossible, it was just delayed.

So she let the kiss get intense, hungry, and she gloried in it.

In the building desire between her thighs, and the reckless heat that threatened to overwhelm her.

His whiskers scratched against her skin, and she liked that too.

Yes. She really did like it.

And when they pulled away, they were breathing hard, and her whole body felt like it was strung out, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

“Are you going to touch yourself tonight? And think of me?”

It wasn’t a question, she knew. It was a command. Because that was who he was.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay.”

“Send me a text and let me know exactly what you thought I might do. Because you know, ‘you have not because you ask not.’”

“All right.”

He kissed her again, once more, then picked up his mug and stood. “I’ll head to bed.”

“Me too.”

And she did exactly as he ordered, and when her climax hit, she turned her face into her pillow and said his name.

Then she sent off a furtive text letting him know she had completed the task. But when it came to what exactly she thought about? That was a lot more difficult. And in the end, she only wrote one word.

You.

Chapter Eight

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