Page 73 of Cowboys Can't Kiss

“Take your clothes off, Riley. Unless you prefer soaking in them?” When he doesn’t move, I step over to him. “Do you want me to do it for you? Trust me, I don’t mind.”

He takes my hands and places them on his hips. “I don’t mind either.”

His red-rimmed eyes break my heart, and I lean down for a soft kiss before my hands sneak under his shirt to pull it over his head. When I kneel before him to remove his loose-fitting pants, he gasps and brushes his hand through my hair.

Tapping his leg for him to step out of his pants, he does so and steadies himself on my shoulder. His underwear comes next, and I kiss his hip bone before standing to turn off the water.

“Sweetheart, step in and relax, okay? Drop the fizzy thing in there and just shut it all out. I got you this pillow thing, too? The woman at the pharmacy said all bathtubs need one.”

Rummaging in the bag, I pull out the bath pillow, which is in the shape of a peach, and I suction it to the place I think he’ll put his head. “Do you want me to bring you wine? Maybe tea?”

“You’re not gonna join me?”

“Not this time. This is for you. I’ll make dinner and you stay here as long as you like.”

Riley nods as he exhales a shaky breath. He lowers himself into the tub with a low groan and immediately rests his head back on the little fuzzy peach pillow.

“God, this feels so good. Drop the bomb thing in for me, please?”

I do as he asks, and he cracks one eye open. “Thank you, Jackson. This is perfect.”

“You’re welcome.”

Before leaving him to relax, I turn the lights down low and close the door.

With my heart slamming in my chest, I retreat to the kitchen to make dinner.

twenty-one

Riley

Jackson only checked on me in the tub once. And that was to make sure I was still okay and to tell me supper was almost ready.

He handed me a warm fluffy towel I didn’t recognize, and I suspect he warmed it in the oven somehow since the laundry machines were in the bathroom with me.

Once dry, I stepped into my bedroom and pulled on a fresh T-shirt and lounge pants before padding to the kitchen.

Jackson had changed at some point, too. He’s barefoot and wearing a pair of navy sweatpants with a tight-fitting white T-shirt that says,Born to be a Cowboy, on it. He pulls a pizza from the oven and smiles when he sees me.

“Perfect timing. Are you feeling better?”

He slides the pizza onto a cutting board and reaches for fresh spinach. It’s then I realize what he’s making.

“I am. You were right. I needed to decompress.” Sliding up to him, I rest a hand on his back as he slices the pizza. “Jackson…are you making my favourite mushroom and spinach pizza?”

The cutest little flush appears on his neck, and he focuses on the food with a dip of his head.

“I am. It’s not from Avocadabra, but it’s easy enough to make.”

Jackson turns and smiles my way before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Sit and eat. I’ll get you a glass of wine. Unless you prefer something else?”

“Uh, no. Wine is great, thanks.”

He’d already placed plates on the kitchen island, and when he returns to set my wineglass in front of me, he places a small napkin with a pattern of horseshoes and cowboy hats on it under the glass.

We eat quietly, and whenever Jackson isn’t using both his hands, he rests one on my thigh. Sometimes with a squeeze and sometimes just smoothing his thumb along in an imaginary pattern.

“This is amazing, Jackson. Better than the one I order in.”

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