Page 52 of Fixing to Be Mine

“A cowboy hat.”

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head at her. “You know what they say. Wear the hat and …”

Her brows lift. “And what?”

Words disappear.

I excuse myself and walk into the closet, grabbing one of my cowboy hats. When I return, I place it on her head. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

That lip finds its way between her teeth. I turn her around to face the full-length mirror. She adjusts the brim as she checks her reflection. This woman is wrapped in a towel, wearing my hat and smiling like she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing to me.

I drag a hand down my face. “You’re dangerous.”

She turns, wide-eyed and innocent. “Me?”

“You.”

She takes a step closer to me. Not much, but it’s enough for me to notice.

“Good,” she says. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

I want to press her back against that dresser, pull her face into my hands, and kiss her like I’ve been thinking about doing since the first time she smiled at me like that. But instead, I clear my throat and step away. Boundaries cannot be crossed.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” I tell her. “If you’re not ready by the time I’m done showerin’, I’m comin’ to finish the job myself.”

She smirks. “Promise?”

With a chuckle, I move into the hallway to give her privacy. She’s going to be the death of me, and I’m starting to think I’d let her.

I take the fastest shower I can manage, letting the cold water run longer than necessary to help cool me off. It doesn’t help as much as I’d like. My pulse is still racing. My mind’s still back in the bedroom, stuck on the image of her skin wrapped in that towel, wearing a smile that feels like it was reserved just for me.

When I step out, my hair is still dripping, and I’ve got a towel slung low on my hips.

I walk into my bedroom, and she’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed like she belongs there. One hand is flipping through the pages of the leather journal I gave her, and the other is twirling a pen between her fingers. She freezes when she sees me.

I smirk, knowing two can play this game. Her gaze starts at my face, travels down past my tattoo, and lingers a little too long on my stomach before landing squarely on my cock.

“Something wrong, darlin’?” I ask, my voice calm, enjoying this more than I should.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I cross the room to my dresser and pull out a clean pair of jeans. I know she’s still watching me because I catch her in the mirror. I let the towel fall and make no effort to hide myself as I pull on some boxers and Wranglers.

I hear her suck in a sharp breath behind me.

I smile to myself as I button and zip my jeans. “You sure you’re too damn old for this?”

Her silence tells me she’s trying to form a comeback, but can’t quite find one.

I turn toward her, still shirtless, noticing how she’s ogling me. “That’s what I thought.”

She shakes her head and laughs, flustered, but trying not to show it. She closes the journal a little too quickly.

“I think I liked you better when you were shy,” she says.

“I was never shy. Just respectful,” I reply, putting on an undershirt, then moving to my walk-in closet. “Had to see if you could handle it.”

“Guess I passed?”

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