Page 18 of Running to the Cowboy

“They might want to give you a tetanus shot.”

She’s a tough girl, and she’s not giving any reaction to the idea of needles. “I don’t suppose I have a choice in the matter,” she says with a smirk.

“You always have a choice. Lockjaw is also a choice.”

To my pleasant surprise, she turns to me with a small smile. “I do enjoy eating. So I’ll go along with it.”

Behind the smile is something heavy and determined. Something has clicked for her.

“Good. I need you to be healthy.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Do you need me to be here to hold your hand while you get the shot?”

At this, she shakes her head and scoffs a little too dramatically. “No!”

“Atta girl. You got this.”

I drain my coffee cup, ignoring the crackle in the air as Olivia sets out plates on the breakfast bar while giving me the side eye.

“So,” she chirps, her voice weirdly higher pitched than usual. She plates a slice of coffee cake with eggs and bacon, then brings it to where I’m seated at the table, hopefully subtly adjusting my dick while it’s out of view. “Why are you up so early?”

“Thinking,” I reply.

“Oh. About what?” Olivia asks.

As if she doesn’t know.

She looks down at me with wide, curious eyes. There’s no fear in them.

Only expectation.

Her soft, pink tongue juts out to lick her lips. Long lashes flutter as she blinks at me, beckoning.

Without another word between us, I grab her around the waist and pull her into my lap. Her gasp of surprise dissipates as I kiss those pouty lips. I kiss them as if they belong to me.

Last night, I told her that a boss hooking up with a ranch employee would be wrong.

That’s true. It is wrong.

But then, I wasn’t the one who hired Olivia. Curly hired her.

I’ll accept this technicality because kissing Olivia is just too damn sweet to be wrong.

Chapter Nine

Olivia

When Wylie’s lips meet mine, it’s magical.

He’s soft but firm, tasting me in long, slow, gentle sweeps. I’m acutely aware of his bare chest against my side as he braces me on his lap. His skin throws off so much heat that I feel it through my new, crisp white tee-shirt.

Wylie pulls back and meets my gaze as if checking on me to make sure this is what I want.

I angle my face to tell him I want him to do that again. Wylie’s mouth is everything. Tender and soft and as masterful as his strong hands gripping my waist.

His closeness pulls me back from the worry about whether I’m a terrible kisser. The moment is too perfect to not appreciate every little thing. His hard muscles under my thighs. The way he smells: soap, some kind of woodsy scented lotion he applied after shaving, and that undefinable scent of his bed that’s just…Wylie.

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