Page 17 of The Wrangler

The house was warm, lived-in, nothing like the sleek, modern places Keely frequented except for her own homes. Exposed beams stretched across the ceiling, a stone fireplace centered the main room, and the open-concept kitchen blended into the living space with its handcrafted wood counters and old-fashioned farmhouse sink.

Jesse dropped the bags on the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

Keely wandered inside, fingers trailing along the rough wood of the dining table, eyes scanning the space. “This feels like you.”

Jesse quirked his eyebrow. “And what does that mean?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sturdy. Strong. A little rough around the edges, but somehow calm and comforting.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

She turned, watching him with that damn look—the one that always meant trouble. “I guess that depends.”

Jesse felt the warning signs flare under his skin. This didn’t feel like her usual banter. It felt… different. Keely knew damnwell what kind of line she was skirting—and yet, she kept pushing.

The biggest problem was that he didn’t know that he wanted her to stop, and God help him, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to resist much longer.

Keely’s laughter rang through the house, light and teasing, as she tossed her boots near the door. “So, what now? You’re going to give me a list of rules to follow while I’m here?”

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “You need rules to keep yourself out of trouble?”

She grinned. “Depends. Are you going to punish me if I break them?”

Jesse went absolutely still—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Keely. She knew exactly what she was doing—testing, prodding, seeing how far she could push him before he finally snapped.

Jesse clenched his jaw. “Keely.”

She tilted her head, all innocent curiosity. “Yes, Sir?”

Jesse moved before he could stop himself, closing the space between them in an instant, backing her up until her spine met the wooden door behind her. She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop pushing.

Jesse braced both hands beside her head, boxing her in. “You keep playing games with me, darlin’, and I promise you won’t like the outcome.”

Her lips parted, her pupils blown wide, but she still lifted her chin, defiance gleaming in her eyes. “And what if I do? What if that’s what I want? What if that’s what I’ve always wanted?”

Jesse’s control snapped. His hand wrapped around her throat, firm but not restricting, just enough to hold her still—to remind her who was in charge. Keely trembled, but not from fear.

Jesse leaned in, his voice low, dangerous, raw. “I don’t play like the men you’re used to, Keely. I don’t tease. I don’t flirt. And I sure as hell won’t let you top from bottom.”

Her breathing hitched, her hands resting on his chest, but she didn’t push him away. Didn’t tell him to stop. Jesse watched her, felt the rapid thud of her pulse against his palm, and let the truth settle between them. She was tempting him past reason—one more step—one more provocation—and there’d be no coming back.

Keely swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Then what do you do, Jesse?”

Jesse let out a slow breath, forcing himself to release her, to step back before he did something he couldn’t take back. He turned on his heel, walking toward the kitchen, putting distance between them before he forgot all the reasons why she was off-limits.

“Go to bed, Keely.” His voice came out rough, gritted with restraint.

Silence. Then—soft, satisfied laughter. “What’s the matter cowboy, aren’t you going to feed me?”

Jesse gripped the counter, his knuckles turning white. This woman was going to ruin him.

He knew better.

He’d spent his whole damn life following rules, enforcing control, keeping a firm grip on the things that mattered most. But then there was Keely Malone—and that woman had never met a line she didn’t want to cross.

She was in his house, walking around like she owned the place, testing him with every glance, every challenge, every soft, teasing breath. He could feel her in every inch of the damn room, could hear the quiet shuffle of her bare feet against the wood floor, the way her breath hitched every time he got too close.

She was testing him, and he feared he was way too close to failing.

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