Page 12 of Her Filthy Cowboy

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Brody’s hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. “I’m taking you home.”

“Oh, I can call a cab?—”

“Not a chance.”

Brody keeps his hand on my back as he leads me off the dance floor. We pass by a booth where Brody’s brothers and Melody are watching us with amused expressions.

“I’m taking Savannah home.” Brody nods at Luke. “You good to drive everybody else back?”

Luke grins, a knowing glint in his eye. “Yeah, I’m good. You two go on ahead.”

Wyatt chuckles, his arm draped around Melody’s shoulders. “We should probably get going too. This one is practically falling asleep over here.” He tilts his head toward Melody, who is leaning heavily against his side, her eyelids drooping.

Melody rouses herself enough to protest. “I am not.” But then, as if on cue, a sleepy yawn escapes her lips.

Wyatt shakes his head, an indulgent smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Come on, Princess, let’s get you home.”

In one smooth motion, he scoops Melody into his strong arms. She lets out a little squeak of surprise before looping her arms around his neck and snuggling into his broad chest.

The crisp night air hits my face as we step outside the bar and I shiver a little. Brody must notice because he shrugs off his thick ranch jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. The heavy material envelops me, surrounding me with his scent and his warmth.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine, really.”

Brody opens the passenger door for me. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

My belly flutters at his words and the heated look in his eyes. I climb up into the cab of his truck, trying not to think about how intimate it feels to be wearing his hat and jacket, to have his scent wrapped around me.

The drive back to my house is both too long and too short.

Brody keeps his hand on my thigh as he drives, the heat of his touch seeping through my jeans. The weight of it feels possessive. Like he’s staking his claim on me for all the world to see. Or at least anyone who happens to glance into the cab of his truck.

Part of me wants it to last forever, to stay cocooned in this moment. But another part is desperate to escape the tension simmering between us before I do something reckless. Like climb into his lap and beg him to have his way with me.

By the time Brody pulls into my driveway, my body is wound tight with anticipation and nerves.

“Wait there.” He puts the truck in park. “I’ll get your door.”

He hops out and walks around to my side, then opens the door and offers me his hand. I take it and let him help me down.

“Thanks for driving me home,” I say as we walk side by side up the porch steps. I lick my lips nervously and reach up to take off his cowboy hat. “I should probably give this back to you.”

But Brody’s hand shoots out, his fingers circling my wrist to stop me. “Keep them. They look better on you anyway.”

Then he leans down and brushes his lips against mine in a soft kiss.

This one is different than the one he gave me at the bar. It’s less urgent but more tender and still makes my knees embarrassingly wobbly.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his hand cupping my cheek. “Good night, Savannah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Brody.”

I watch him walk away, my heart racing. As soon as he’s out of sight, I fumble with my keys and rush inside.

My mind is reeling. I lean against the closed door, touching my lips where I can still feel the pressure of Brody’s kiss.

“How was Pitcher’s Brew?”

The deep, amused voice startles me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My eyes dart to the living room, where my brother Liam is lounging on the couch.

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