Page 10 of Big Gruff Cowboy

I’ve only been at the bookstore for twenty minutes when the bell above the door rings and Noah walks in. He’s in another flannel shirt and his brown Stetson. His tight blue jeans cling to his thick thighs and showcase an impressive bulge.

He’s frowning and staring intently at me. I’m not sure if he’s mad or has something in his eye.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, curious about what he’s doing here and why he’s frowning like that.

“I’m trying to do that squinchy thing with my eyebrows, so you’ll kiss me.”

My cheeks flame. I remember! I remember saying that. I whirl around to face him, gasping his name as I do. “I was drunk!”

“And sometimes that’s when the truth comes out.” He grins then stops and frowns again. “Sorry. How’s that? More kissable?”

“You are completely—”

“Irresistible,” he finishes the sentence and pulls me into his arms. His big hands find my hips, squeezing me through my skirt.

I huff out a sigh even as my arms go around his neck. I’d never tell him, but I love this easy, teasing banter with him. “I don’t think that’s the word I was going to use to describe you.”

“Well, it’s the word I’d use for you.”

My hands are on the hot skin of his neck, teasing the little hairs. He smells of cowboy cologne. It’s a musky scent of hard work and sweat and irresistible maleness.

“Kissable,” he says. “That’s the word you were looking for.”

He lowers his head, his mouth only inches from mine, and that’s the exact moment that Mr. Darcy gags loudly.

I turn my attention in time to see him produce a large hairball right there on the faded gray carpet of the bookstore.

It’s enough to bring me back to reality. I step away from the hot cowboy. “Aww, you poor thing! Are you feeling better now, Mr. Darcy?”

“You named your cat Mr. Darcy?” He asks as he follows me around the counter where I grab the cleaning spray and a rag for just such emergencies.

I shrug. “The name fits. His good opinion—”

“Once lost is lost forever.” He takes the cleaning rag and cloth from me and walks to the spot. He swoops and murmurs something to Mr. Darcy. I think he’s promising him tuna and treats if he doesn’t cockblock him again.

I fight a smile as I go back to work. I’m baffled by this cowboy who keeps showing up at the bookstore.

The rest of the day passes quickly. I expected Noah to leave at some point to tend to his family’s farm, but he keeps hanging around. He spends his time unloading the heavy boxes of books and moving around the shop with ease. It’s obvious he’s used to spending hours here, and I can’t say I mind having him around.

It’s no burden to look at his beautiful face all day but he is causing a problem. A big one.

“You can’t be doing this!” I hiss at him after he runs off the fifth customer.

“Doing what?” He’s the picture of innocence as he peels an orange with those big fingers of his. I imagine his fingers wrapping around my throat as he kisses all the air from my lungs. The thought makes the spot between my thighs ache. I’ve never been with anyone, never had a guy touch me. But there’s something about Noah. I want him to touch me, to stroke my pussy and tell me I’m his.

He raises his eyebrows at me in question then says in a gruff voice, “Sorry. Wrong direction.”

He’s frowning again and it’d be almost comical if he weren’t so infuriating. “You can’t keep running off my male customers! That’s the fifth one today!”

“I’m not letting them around you until you’re wearing my ring and have my baby in your belly.”

I do not need him talking about putting a baby in my belly. I do not need to imagine him stripping me naked and telling me he’s going to fill me with his come. “You’re a weirdo.”

He holds out the slice of orange to me. He removed the strings. I told him I love oranges but hate the white strings that get stuck in my teeth. “Live with me in wedded bliss and carry my heirs.”

I sigh in exasperation and manage to keep myself from reaching for the orange slice. “You know what? Just don’t talk to any of my customers at all.”

“I didn’t speak to any of the men in your shop,” he protests.

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