Page 80 of Tempting Wyatt
Isaac chuckles lightly in my ear. “Told you.”
I tear my eyes from where Wyatt approaches to look questioningly at Isaac.
“Heavy shove,” he answers with a wink.
“Hey,” Wyatt says gruffly when he reaches us. “You got something in your eye?”
Isaac chuckles. “Nope.”
“Then stop fucking winking at her.” He frowns. “Mind if I cut in?”
Isaac takes a step back. “As long as the lady doesn’t mind.”
Wyatt’s eyes meet mine. Breathing becomes difficult. The full weight of his possessive energy pulls me toward him like a magnet. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. I don’t know how he does this to me. Hell, I don’t even know whatthisis.
“Well?” He rakes his hand over his messy, dark hair, ruffling it slightly.
God, he looks good in his black henley and what I suspect are the nicest pair of jeans he owns.
Unable to make my mouth form words, I only nod as he takes me in his arms.
“You smell good,” is what tumbles out of my mouth. I close my eyes, embarrassed.
Quiet laughter rumbles in his chest as I look up at him. I feel miniature in his arms.
“As opposed to smelling like a farm animal, like usual?”
My lips curve of their own accord. “You know what I mean. You smell like soap, expensive cologne, pine trees, and leather.” I breathe him in deeply. “And maybe something minty.”
“I think you just described what the cab of my truck smells like.”
“I like it.” I love it. Could drown in it happily, but I have a feelingloveis a word that would make him uncomfortable. Despite how smoothly he moves us across the dance floor, his stiff posture tells me he’s a few miles outside his comfort zone already.
“I’m glad,” he says, the low octave of his voice heating my skin all over.
A slow song about cowboys and angels begins to play.
Wyatt pulls me closer. “I wasn’t planning on coming here,” he admits softly beside my ear. “To the bar, I mean.”
Swallowing thickly, I realize I’ve lost track of Isaac. Pretty much the entire rest of the crowded bar disappears in my mind. All that exists in my little world is this man and the music.
“I wasn’t planning on coming to Montana,” I confess to his chest. “But I’m glad I did.” I pull back to look up into his eyes.
His handsome face is a mask of disbelief. “Because you really enjoy life as a ranch hand? Mucking stalls makes you happy, Hollywood?”
I scrunch my nose. “No. Because I’ve never seen anything like you or your ranch in real life. Because the moment I stepped out of my car and inhaled Montana air, I felt like I could finally breathe.”
I don’t know where all this is coming from, but I’ve opened a floodgate by admitting it. Words keep spilling out of my mouth. “It’s funny; I’ve never gotten attached to anywhere I’ve ever lived. Or visited. Side effect of moving so much as a kid, I guess. But here—this town, this land, the ranch—I know it will be a part of me long after I’m gone.”
I didn’t realize how true it was until I said it out loud.
Wyatt startles me by standing completely still. He stares at me for what feels like a full minute. Couples two-step around us as the band transitions into a song about spinning someone around on the dance floor.
His giant hand cups my chin as his thumb brushes my lower lip. My knees go weak.
I couldn’t have written this moment if I’d tried. Wyatt’s presence and the intensity of his stare say more than any words I’ve written ever could.
“What do you want from me, Ivy?”
