Page 116 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

But even our quick, frenzied kisses, with my thighs squeezing his hips and his hands tangled in my hair, were enough to remind me of one very important truth.

This man is mine.

And I’m one lucky girl because he loves me right back.

I still half expected him to bristle when I told him I was going in to cover a shift at Bob’s.

That alpha hot boy streak of his flaring up, the protective Bull inside him wanting me to stay tucked away at the ranch where no one could look too long or say the wrong thing.

But Kian didn’t flinch.

He just kissed my forehead and said, “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where are you going?”

“With you. Watching. Supporting. Always.”

And now, here he is.

Sitting at the bar, sipping his drink, watching me with that quiet, hungry reverence that says he’d burn the world down for me if I asked.

And yes, I believe him.

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. Even if he doesn’t know that about himself, I do.

After all, here he is.

Loving me out loud.

Letting me shine.

The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the warm glow of string lights draped across the ceiling. It all weaves into a kind of cozy magic that settles in my bones.

I feel good.

Steady.

Rooted.

Seen.

Loved.

It’s the kind of night you tuck away in your soul to take out later when things are dark or difficult.

The kind of moment that says you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

But then a shiver slips down my spine.

Tiny. Quick.

Gone before I can name it.

My smile falters for the briefest second as I finish pouring a drink and glance toward the door.

No one’s there.

The bell above the frame jingles faintly, but the air doesn’t move.

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