Page 12 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

Her mouth is soft, lush. A bow of perfect temptation.

I wanna lick it.

Hell, I wanna stamp myself all over her. Every fucking inch of her.

Because all of it is just darling. Every morsel—sublime.

And every part of me wants to ruin her.

Mine.

“I said, what can I get you?”

She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Shit. Maybe I have.

How many times has she asked me that?

“Uh, beer,” I say, even though I couldn’t care less about a drink.

“Beer. Okay. What kind?”

I blink. She’s still watching me, expecting an answer.

“Oh, uh, whatever’s on tap is fine,” I say quickly, like I haven’t just been sitting here imagining how soft her skin would feel under my hands.

“It’s nice out tonight.”

I don’t know why I say it. Maybe to make myself seem less.

Less intense.

Less obsessed.

Less fucking starving for her.

She makes a noncommittal sound, and I wonder what it means.

It’s like my anxiety is giving me fucking anxiety and I wonder if she can feel it.

But Arliss isn’t shook.

Not the way I am.

She just turns her back on me, going about her job like she isn’t driving me insane.

And I shouldn’t look.

I should not fucking look.

But my eyes betray me.

Zero in on the perfect curve of her ass hugged tight in those sinfully fitted jeans.

A little black apron cinches her waist, the strings tied in a bow that rests just above the swell of her ass.

She’s a fucking present.

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