Page 96 of For Cowgirls and Kings
Her grip tightens a fraction around my fingers, before she starts to pull them away. Why the fuck did I use the“f”word when every time she does I see red? I’m sending mixed signals, and even I’m getting fucking confused now.
I interlace our fingers before she can retreat completely, and sling my jacket over my shoulder, pulling her to the entrance. There’s no good come back for my stupid words, so I remain silent—but unwilling to drop her hand.
She tugs a little on my grip but I ignore her, sliding my sunglasses on instead.
“Where are we going?” she hisses, stumbling along behind me.
“Out. What’s the point of being a rich asshole if I can’t take advantage of it sometimes? I want to show you my world.”
“You mean the thousand acre ranch with the biggest, most immaculate horse barns and enormous house isn’t your world? What? Is this your vacation estate, your highness?”
I spin on my heel, an unrestrained smirk tipping my lips. She stumbles, looking up at me surprised, her warm brown eyes wide. “You might see me as a king, but my power isn’t even a match compared to the torch you wield. If you’re jealous—if you want this place or any other—all you have to do is ask Dale. I might be a king, but you’re a fucking goddess.”
She sputters, her face growing more red with each word, and I smile widely at her. Without waiting for a response I continue to lead her to where my Black Dodge dually is parked in the driveway, freshly washed and shining.
“You know what they say about guys who drive big trucks right?” she huffs, clambering into the truck. She struggles a second, trying to hoist herself up—I’m tempted to watch her struggle for as long as she feels like being stubborn—the view from here is an incredible, one of her ass, all round and firm.
But the itch to touch her is greater.
Gripping her hips, I lift her into the seat. She swats at my hands, but I see the stain pinking her neck again; she likes it, likes me touching her but she’s playing hard to get.
Noted.
Before I release her, I lean in, my mouth only inches from her neck. “Yeah, well, you can tell them you know from experience that I’m not one of those typical guys. Can’t you, cowgirl? Or do you need a re-ride?”
Please need a re-ride. Tell me to fuck this plan and take me in the house and fuck me.
“Easy big guy—” she purrs, the vibrations ricocheting through my hyper aware body. “This cowgirl doesn’t fuck herfriends.” I still at that, a growl ripping from my chest.
I know I said it first, and I want to fucking bash my own head in for it. Why?I’m putting myself if the fucking friendzone.
I just can’t imagine a girl like her wanting a man like me for anything more than a solid friendship and an occasional fuck if I’m lucky. But I’d do anything for more.
I need to start acting like it. Gus’s words flash through my mind:“And when I finally got her? I sure as fuck never let her question how much I needed her. I’d cut my own heart out before making her feel for a second like it wasn’t hers.”
“She has, and she will again,” I whisper, my words laced with promise. I step back, the door swinging shut and I hear her chuckle.
“Keep dreaming, your highness.”
I won’t be dreaming about it. Not again tonight.
Tonight I’ll make her demand to fuck me.
“I don’t need to go into another store, Mateo. You’ve already bought me a new wardrobe, which by the way, I’m not returning even if we do stop being friends. They’re beautiful clothes, and I’m selfish like that.”
I snort, nodding along, pulling open another store door, the bell above it chiming. She squints up at me as she passes by, but walks on in, just like I knew she wanted to.
She pretends like she doesn’t want more, doesn’t need ordeserve the best of life, but she’s fucking wrong. I’m going to give her everything, one fucking store at a time.
I’ve never had anyone to spoil, just to see them smile. Everyone’s always wanted something from me—Dale wants nothing but my company.And something about that makes me want to buy her everything.
I’m not good at words, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be. I’m old fashioned; the guy does some grand gesture to win the girl. But with Dale I don’t know where to start. I just want her to smile, and to be the reason that twinkle returns to her eyes.
I don’t even get through the doorway before I hear her squealing. I knew a day in downtown Fort Worth, surrounded by the things she loves most—turquoise jewelry, cowboy boots, and booze—would do good for her heart.
And fuck, I love being right.
I stand in the entry, my eyes never wavering from her dark shimmering form fluttering around the room like a black butterfly. She lovingly traces over several pieces, all made of the finest leather and velvets, most embroidered or printed with western imagery—cowboys, longhorns, horseshoes—finished with fringe or intricate silver conchos. They’re beautiful pieces, but they pale in comparison to the woman admiring each one like they just might cure cancer, depression, and everything in between.
