Page 47 of Rogue Cowboy
“No,” she said.“I don’t want it to.I want…I want my life back.I need to take it back.I’ve already let it go too long.”Her words came fast and sounded like they were being choked out.
“Leave the door open,” he said.“No matter what, I sit here until you tell me to go.”
“What if…what if I don’t want you to go?”
“Then I’ll stay.”
She stared at him, gaze searching then pulled out two cellophane packages, each wrapped with a copper bow.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
Cole closed his eyes.
“Can I…can I blindfold you?”
Jesus.
“Yes.”
Riley reached into his pocket and withdrew the bandana every Texas cowboy—hell, probably every ranch hand—kept in his back pocket.
He listened.Heard her breathing and a whisper of sound, and then she leaned into him, and he inhaled her like his last breath.Her arms brushed his as she positioned his hands behind his back and, she tied one bandana around his wrists.She looked at him, her eyes nearly purple in the dim light.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”It was hot as hell.
He felt the brush of her breasts as she leaned in and blindfolded him with a softer, silkier scarf.
“Ummm…maybe we should have a safe word.”
He barely held back a snorted laugh.“You’re supposed to figure that before you start.”
“Oh.”
“Not that I have personal experience,” he said firmly.
“Oh… Good.I think I’m being weird.”
He thought she was charming, and this was both exciting and more than a little confusing, but he’d roll with it.
“I don’t need a safe word.”
“Me neither,” she said.
Her sigh nearly broke his heart.
“Okay.”He heard the determination.“We’re going to practice.”
“What?”He couldn’t imagine what she meant and wondered what had brought this on.
“Intimacy.A shared experience.”
He wished she were blindfolded too so she couldn’t see what a fool he must look because he had no idea what she was up to, but he’d wanted Riley to take control of her life, and if this was it, he’d sit in the passenger seat and keep his opinions to himself.
“I’m going to put something in your mouth, and I’m going to put the same thing in my mouth.And I want you to let it melt.And as it melts, I want you to tell me something—something the taste reminds you of.A memory or a sensation.I read about this once and did it in a creativity workshop in LA.I’m trying to remember something good from that time other than you.Okay?”
Emotion swelled through him, and he doubted his ability to speak, much less call up a memory from a life he rarely reflected on.
