Page 11 of Her Filthy Cowboy

All I wanted was a cold drink and a few hours away from my overbearing family. I figured that a Thursday night at a local bar would be the perfect way to unwind.

But of course, Brody had to show up and ruin my plans.

Or make them infinitely better, depending on how you look at it.

Now he’s wrapping one arm around my waist as he pulls me close and I can’t help but inhale the intoxicating scent of leather and pine that clings to his skin. My body molds against his chest as we begin to sway to the slow rhythm of the music.

As we turn, I notice a group of slack-jawed women huddled together near the bar, their eyes glued to Brody and me.

Part of me wants to gloat, to revel in the fact that Brody chose me over all of them. But another part of me still can’t quite believe this is happening. That Brody Clayton, the mosteligible bachelor in Fit Mountain, is dancing with me in front of everyone.

“People are staring at us,” I whisper. I can practically feel their eyes boring into my back.

Brody just smirks, completely unconcerned. “Let them stare. I’m right where I want to be.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Dancing with the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

His hand slides lower, fingers splaying across my hip.

Every hard ridge of his body presses against my softness, and I have to bite back a moan. If his hand moved just a few inches, he could touch me right where I’m suddenly aching for him.

“What are you thinking about?” Brody murmurs into my ear.

I bite my lip, debating how honest to be. “I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.”

He tightens his hand on my waist. “And why’s that?”

“You know why. This—us—it’s complicated.”

“Only if we let it be.”

I want to argue, to list all the reasons why this is a bad idea. But with his body pressed against mine and his scent enveloping me, I can’t remember a single one of them.

So instead I change the subject. “What are you thinking?”

Brody slides his hand up my back and threads his fingers into my hair beneath the cowboy hat. He angles my face to his, our lips a mere breath apart.

“I’m thinking that you look good in my hat.”

Heat rushes through me at his words and his touch. I can’t think straight when he’s this close.

I swallow hard, my body trembling against his. “Maybe I’ll keep it.”

His eyes drop to my mouth. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

And then he kisses me.

I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be kissed senseless on a dance floor while an old country song played in the background. Now I know.

And it’s even better than I imagined.

Brody’s lips move skillfully over mine, his tongue teasing and tasting. He kisses me like he’s been starving for it, like he wants to devour me whole. And I let him. I open for him, welcoming the deep thrust of his tongue, the nip of his teeth.

I slide my hands up his chest to grip his broad shoulders, holding on for dear life as he expertly explores my mouth. He tastes like whiskey and temptation. I can’t get enough.

Every swipe of his tongue against mine sends a little zing of pleasure straight to my clit. Liquid heat pools low in my belly, and my thighs clench with need. I’ve never been so thoroughly kissed in my life.

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