Page 15 of The Cowboy's Off Limits Option

Yeah. That'll work. I can tell him I was feeling left out now that Ginger's found someone she's serious about. It's not exactly not true.

Following behind him, I try not to stare at his ass as we make our way down the long hallway, back to the front of the house with the big, farmhouse kitchen that I've imagined myself cooking meals for the make believe family we're never going to have.

Archer pulls a pitcher of cold, sweet tea out of the fridge and sets it next to a couple of glasses he pulls from the cabinet. Then he sorts through some boxes in the walk-in pantry, presumably in search of this popcorn he plans to make, and I find something I would change.

His pantry is a disorganized mess.

Reminding myself that that's going to be someone else's problem to remedy soon enough, I make busy work of filling the tumblers with tea.

When he pulled the sweat pants and t-shirt out for me, he grabbed a change of clothes for himself too; taking them with him before he closed the door behind him to give me privacy for my shower.

The nights are mild this time of year, and the windows are open throughout the house to take let the fresh air in. It lets a faint breeze move through the house, carrying the scents of night blooming jasmine and recently cut alfalfa in with it.

Unfortunately, it's not the cool air that's making my nipples hard.

The halter top I was wearing has a built in bra, so I don't have one to put on under the borrowed tee.

It's just the way my body reacts to the man standing just inside the pantry door, still looking through the shelves for popcorn.

I'm drifting deep into my own head again when I realize he's stopped searching the shelves and is staring at me in silence.

A packet of microwave popcorn is clutched tightly in the fingers of his right hand. Too tightly. His chest rises and falls heavily under his t-shirt.

My eyes take in the full scene while my brain scrambles to make sense of it.

I know what men look like when they're turned on. I know how they look at me when I'm the one they're thinking about-- just because I've never dated, doesn't mean I haven't had offers. Especially in college when my brother wasn't around to run them all off.

It's just that seeing the hunger in Archer Dean's eyes right now is all out of context.

The way his jaw clenches in a way that makes the muscle beside his ear twitch, the hyper-focused stare, unmistakenly centered on me-- the enormous erection proudly tenting the front of the black sweat pants hanging from his hips.

"Is that because of me?"

Stupid question. Of course not. Or maybe? What the hell am I doing?

Because he only answers me by closing his eyes tightly and saying my name in a pained whisper as I close the distance between us, too confused to think better of it.

Archer

This is bad.All bad.

But I'm trapped, with nowhere to go but into the dead end of the pantry, because Callie's standing in front of me now and I can't remember how to breathe, let alone move my fucking feet.

I thought I was keeping it together. I thought I'd make it through the rest of the night; stand in the kitchen with the island between us while I let her tell me what had her thinking it'd be a good idea to go out to Keller's Ferry on her own.

My plan was to listen, maybe scold her for doing something that could have ended so badly. Play my part as her over protective big brother's concerned sidekick.

Then she'd sleep in my room and I'd crash in one of the spare bedrooms. In the morning, we'd go get her car and go our separate ways.

She'd go back to living her life and I'd torture myself knowing that she'd been in my bed-- without me.

One of these days, I need to organize the pantry. I tend to just shove boxes in here without thinking. But the real reason it took me so long to find popcorn was because I kept sneaking glances at Callie.

She's so beautiful. Standing in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, bits of her hair still damp from being in my shower. Looking like every fucking fantasy I've been trying to get out of my head for the last two years.

Those curves of hers fill out my sweats where they hug her round ass and those thick thighs, but they're so fucking big everywhere else that she's got the legs rolled up and the waistrolled down. My old t-shirt hangs on her everywhere but where it's stretched across those full breasts.

It's obvious she's not wearing a bra. The house has cooled down from the open windows and the night air moving through has her nipples mouthwateringly hard. The way her tits sway gently with the movements of her raising and lowering the pitcher of tea to fill the glasses is hypnotic.

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