Page 157 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Walker, there are people around?—”
“Let them look.” His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. “I’ve been thinking about you in that white sundress you wore yesterday. How the sunlight made it almost transparent. Could see every curve, every shadow.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You didn’t say anything yesterday.”
“Was too busy planning all the ways I wanted to peel it off you.” He leans closer, breath hot against my ear. “Been thinking about having you against the wall in the barn. Your legs wrapped around me, those pretty sounds you make when you’re trying to be quiet.”
“You’re going to make me blush.”
“Love how you sound so flustered.” His lips brush my neck, barely a touch but enough to make me shiver. “Love how pink your skin gets. Right here.” He traces a finger along my collarbone. “And here.” Down between my breasts. “And especially here.” His hand stops just above my heart, feeling how fast it’s racing.
“You’re being very inappropriate for a public place.” I’m breathless.
“Just being honest about how my Omega affects me. How I can barely concentrate when you’re around. How every time I see you, I remember how you taste. How you feel. How perfect you are when you cry my name in my arms.”
Before I can respond, he kisses me. It’s not gentle. It’s claiming, possessive, his tongue sliding against mine until I’m gripping his shirt to stay upright.
“WALKER!” someone shouts from across the arena. “Boss man’s looking for you!”
“Damn,” he mutters but doesn’t move immediately. “Rain check?”
“On public indecency?”
“On showing you exactly how much I want you.” He backs away slowly, that predator’s grin making my stomach flip. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
I lean against the fence, trying to catch my breath while he jogs toward whoever called him. My lips still tingle, and the heat between my thighs is an inferno.
“You must be the famous Sophia,” a male voice says.
I turn to find an older man in expensive Western wear approaching. He’s probably sixty, with silver hair under a pristine white hat and boots that shine even in the dust.
“I’m Tom Garrison.” He extends his hand. “I own Thunder Creek Arena.”
“Mr. Garrison.” I shake his hand, trying to compose myself. “Thank you for hosting our event.”
“My pleasure. Ridge was magic to watch back in the day. Shame how his career ended.”
“He’s been training hard,” I say, a defensive instinct kicking in.
“I’m sure he has. But three years changes a body. Especially after the kind of injury he sustained.” He rocks back on his heels. “You know the statistics on comeback rides after that long away?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. Rose would’ve liked you. She always appreciated a woman who spoke her mind.”
“You knew Rose?”
“Everyone knew her and her Wild Hearts Ranch. She was a fixture at these events, back when her husband was still alive. Used to bring cookies for all the riders.” His expression softens. “It’s a damn shame what Ronan is trying to do to her legacy.” He tips his hat. “For what it’s worth, I hope you win. Wild Hearts Ranch is exactly the kind of place this town needs, not some shopping development. But if this doesn’t work,his people are already lined up to grab it from the bank.”
My stomach twists so hard I think I might be sick. It shouldn’t surprise me, not with the way Ronan operates, but the knowledge still burns, sour and hot. Fury crackles through me. How dare they treat the ranch like some prize to be stolen, like all the blood and sweat poured into it means nothing? My fists clench, nails biting my palms, and all I can think is that I’ll fight tooth and nail before I let them take it.
He walks away, leaving me with mixed feelings—gratitude for his support, anxiety about his comments on comeback statistics, and fury toward fucking Ronan.
“Making friends?” Walker reappears at my side. “Tom’s a good guy.”
“He said something about comeback statistics of a returning bull rider I refused to hear.”
Walker flips his arm around my waist. “Good. Don’t need those numbers in your head.”
