Page 44 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get clever.”
“Not often an issue.”
“Damn you, Anders Wolf.” But the words lacked heat and now he could see the sparkle in her whiskey-colored eyes that always made him thirsty for a drink from her lips—the lips that were faintly curved in a smile.
Relief washed through him. He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “Tinsley, I promise I…”
“Anders, I’m sorry…” she began.
Their breath mingled, and he forgot what he was going to say. Her eyes warmed, and he felt the brush of her firm breasts against his shirt as she breathed in and out, and then his gaze naturally drifted lower.
The off-the-shoulder shirt that highlighted her beautiful skin drew his fascinated regard. Her breasts—always high, round and so sexy, a handful he had savored and never forgot their satin texture or the way her nipples felt pebbled against her lips—looked even more luscious.
“Eyes up, cowboy,” she murmured.
“You shouldn’t be so damn beautiful then. Or so sexy I can’t think with my northern brain.”
She pulled her hands out of his.
“Considering I’m pregnant, that’s not going to last,” she said. “And that’s all we had.”
What? His brain stuttered at the quick change of tone and subject.
“No, it’s not,” he objected automatically.
“Sex was all you wanted,” she stated. “All you’ve ever wanted in a relationship. You told me that straight out.”
The truth of her words spoken in her calm voice, clearly enunciated, slapped against his ears.
“Ummmm, yeah,” he admitted. “But you were good with it.” He felt stupid even uttering the words.
“I was. Sex was all I wanted from you. No relationship. No promises. No expectations. No marriage.”
Each time he felt like he’d taken a step forward, he was shoved two steps back. Maybe three.
He took a deep, calming breath. The last thing his family needed—especially in front of his brother’s high-profile tasting room—was a lover’s spat. “Let’s take this inside,” he said moving forward and gently taking her arm.
She jerked her arm away fast, spun around and dropped into what looked a little like a fighting stance. Her breaths were quick, and she watched him the way he’d seen coyotes and ranch dogs square off over the years.
But Tinsley was a woman. He’d never hurt her.
And then an ugly suspicion entered his mind. Had a man ever laid a hand on her? Someone on the tour? A customer?
“Tinsley,” he began cautiously. “What’s going on? Did someone hurt you?” He could barely voice the question and the way his blood felt like it was boiling freaked him out. He was not the hotheaded bull rider on the tour. He’d de-escalated many brewing fights and had pulled more than one drunken cowboy off another so what was with the sudden desire to swing a right hook at a man who dared to lay his hand on his woman?
My woman.
That set him back on his heels because Tinsley did feel like his. She didn’t want to be and certainly wasn’t acting like his woman, but she was. It might only be a couple of days since he discovered he was going to be a father, but he felt a sense of belonging and possession and family to his bones.
“Anders, I appreciate the truck and how you’re trying the best to handle me like I’m fragile, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be handled. You don’t need to pretend to care about me,” she said, putting her hands on his chest like she was pushing him away. “We are both adults. We were attracted and we acted on it. And a couple of months later, we indulged on impulse again. We both enjoyed ourselves, but we both walked away heart-whole. The…” She waved her hand.
“Baby,” he filled in, narrowing his eyes in disbelief at her speech that sounded rehearsed.
“Doesn’t have to change anything. We both know you were done. You told me that. One more night. I agreed.”
What a dumbass he’d been and still was. One more night. He’d been kidding himself. He’d wanted another night because he couldn’t get her out of his head. His blood. His body practically hummed whenever he saw her. Their night at the wedding—swimming at the swimming hole, watching her do a striptease wearing his Stetson in the lights of his truck, making love until he couldn’t walk, had made his craving for her, his fever for her, worse not assuaged it.
“You don’t want to settle down yet, and I… Ah the real Verflucht truck has arrived,” she said briskly pushing past him.
