Page 11 of A Cowboy Christmas

“Yeah.” I nod. "You can have a few rocking chairs and even a swing." I always thought those were cute, and I can envision a married couple sitting outside at sunrise or sunset every day. "These rails would be beautiful with lights strung around them.” I run my fingers along the detailed wood. “Some flowers, too. They could be potted here and here.” I motion beside the double doors. “Out past the front of the porch there are plenty of flowers that can withstand the cold weather. I’ll look them up and make a list.”

Again, I stop talking when I realize I’ve been going on and on, and this is not about the tour. “Oh god.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “Not that this is ugly. It was only a few ideas, so it’s not so plain. Wait, I don’t mean plain. Just not—” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I think I’ll stop talking now.”

“Please don’t.” He smiles. "You become extremely animated when you’re excited." I drop my arms when I realize I’d been motioning everywhere like a dork. “You’re like a little snow fairy flitting around.”

Does he really see me that way, or is he only being nice? “Little?” I snort, and Booker takes a step closer. I back up a few inches, but I run into the railing that wraps around the porch.

“You’re little,” Booker repeats. He’s so dang close now, and there’s nowhere for me to go. Why does that give me a thrill of excitement?

“Everything is little compared to you,” I say softly. “Not that I’m calling you a giant or anything. Just?—”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, cutting me off, and that's all the warning I get. It is in no way a question because I barely comprehend his words before his mouth is on mine.

Booker’s lips are soft, and it’s a surprise compared to how hard the rest of him is. His mouth moves against mine, and I close my eyes, unsure of what I'm doing. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, and he tilts my head back. He deepens the kiss, and then I feel his tongue sliding right into my mouth. It’s intense and overwhelming, but my body heats with every wave of pleasure. I’m clearly not as experienced as he is, so I’m tentative at first. His possession is taking the winter chill away, and I give in to it.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” Booker says against my lips.

He doesn’t taste sweet. No, he somehow tastes like a cool clean man with a hint of mint.

“Booker.” I breathe out his name, pushing my body into his. I’ve gotten one taste, and already I need more of him.

“Fuck, you’re lighting up for me with only a kiss.”

“More,” I moan, my fingers firmly grasping the front of his flannel in an effort to make sure he can't pull away. Not that I could really stop him, but I don't think he wants to.

“You want more?” He intensifies his kisses while his hands reach for my hips. He begins to lift me, and I let out a small scream as a surge of pain shoots through me. "Fuck," Booker says, releasing his grip and stepping back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, sorry.” My hand goes to my hip. “I hurt myself the other day. It’s still sore.”

“Show me,” he orders.

“Right now?” I glance around because we’re still on his porch. No one is around, but it’s cold out here.

He grabs me by the wrist, leading me into his house and to the living room area. I glance around, wanting to see his home, but Booker is too distracting. He starts pulling at the coat I’m wearing and stripping it off me. He goes for my top next, pushing it up.

“Hey,” I protest and wonder what the heck he’s doing.

“Hold it up then.” His tone is so firm that I follow his order, lifting my shirt to expose my stomach and hips.

“Booker!” I gasp as he snaps the button of my jeans and inches them down.

“What the fuck happened?” he barks, but his touch is gentle as he brushes his fingers over the bruise.

“It looks worse than it is,” I say, and it’s true. It really hurt the first day, but it’s fine now as long as I don’t bump into it.

“This happen at the diner?”

“Yeah, I, ah...” I lick my dry lips.

“Don’t lie to me.” Dang, am I that easy to read? “Out with it. All of it.”

“When I was cleaning up toward the end of the shift, someone startled me, and I fell.”

“Startled you how?” he asks. I swallow, and Booker’s eyes appear darker. “Sabrina.”

“They smacked my ass.” I blurt it out to get it over with.

“Who?”

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