Page 21 of Tangled Kisses
“Take your glasses off.”
“How come?”
“Safety first.” As soon as she slides off her glasses, I grab a helmet and settle it onto her head, chuckling when she groans in protest. “It’s not that bad. You look cute.”
She narrows her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar? Where is your helmet?”
“I don’t need one.” I hop onto the four-wheeler and glance back at her with a grin. “Come on, little one.”
Reese slides onto the seat behind me, hesitating as she searches for a handhold. “Where do I?—?”
“You’re going to have to hold on to me.”
“I have to hold on to a hot guy, too? You really are a torture taskmaster.”
Her arms slip around my waist and the warmth of her touch sinks straight through my shirt, my whole body going tight.
I’ve been touched a thousand different ways in this line of work, and none of it ever got under my skin. But one cautious grip from Reese and I’m fighting to breathe.
“Is this okay?” Reese asks, her grip loosening like she’s terrified she crossed a line.
“Perfect.” And it is. Every damn thing about her.
Chapter Six
Griffin
For the next twenty minutes, I act as the jovial tour guide. I point out the highlights of the ranch—the six cabins scattered across the acreage, each with its own theme, the variety of walking trails and gardens, and the pastureland that backs onto government-owned grounds.
I tell her about the horses that graze out back, the hot springs tucked beyond the northern trail, the orchard Geraldine insists on keeping despite the deer. Reese listens as if I’m giving her secrets instead of facts, eyes wide with quiet wonder.
Admittedly, I rush the tour. I have something far more important to show Reese.
I pull through the woods to the farthest cabin. It’s secluded and a bit on the remote side, but I love every square inch of it. This is my pet project.
I kill the engine and swing my leg off, steadying the machine. Reese fumbles with the strap under her chin, so I step in and unclip it, tugging the helmet free and setting it on the seat. Her hair tumbles loose, mussed from the ride.
I brush a stray lock from her cheek, my fingers grazing the soft skin at her neck. I should move my hand away, but I don’t. I just stand there, staring. Drinking her in.
Her brow furrows. “What? Helmet head, right? I couldn’t be cool if I tried.”
I stay quiet, my hand still at her nape.
Her lips part, nerves flashing in her eyes. “That bad?”
God, if only she knew.
I reach for her waist, lifting her down from the four-wheeler. She’s perfectly capable of getting off by herself, but I’ve got an ulterior motive. I want her in my arms again.
She fits too well, soft against my chest, her breath warming my skin as I lower her slower than necessary. My fingers splay wide at her waist, memorizing the shape of her through the thin cotton. For a man who hasn’t been stirred in years, it’s almost raw, the way wanting her hits me—unfiltered and impossible to disguise. I clear my throat and let go before I make a fool of myself.
“Thanks.” Reese mumbles the word as she chews her lower lip. “Vander preferred his ladies sleek and elegant. Model types. Then there was me.” She sighs, tugging at her short waves with a crooked smile. “But hey, at least I have personality.”
A surge of anger flares inside me. Not at her words, but at the bastard who made her believe them.
“Don’t do that,” I say, voice low.
Her gaze flicks up, cautious. “Do what?”
