Page 16 of Craving Her Cowboy
She grinned. “Well, now you have.”
He turned on his side, kissing her shoulder, lips gentle against the skin. “What about yours?”
She didn’t flinch. “Took a shell casing in the ribs, third tour. Healed, mostly.” She flexed her side, letting him see the way the muscles bunched under the scar. “Medically retired. Didn’t want to stop, but they didn’t really give me a choice.”
He rolled her onto her back, hands on either side of her face. “You ever regret it? Not being out there?”
She let her eyes close, just for a second. “Every fucking day.”
He kissed her again, slow and lingering, and for a moment, the rest of the world didn’t matter.
When she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling for the first time. Really smiling, soft at the edges.
“Thank you,” he said.
She blinked. “For what?”
“For not running away.”
She laughed, pushing his shoulder. “I’m the one who chased you down in the rain.”
He shrugged, content. “Still counts.”
She nestled in, feeling the heat of him, the solid weight of his body. But she let herself be in it. Just for now.
***
At first light, Asha woke to the sound of the rain dialing itself down from artillery to drizzle. The window was open half an inch, letting in a draft that cooled down the sweat on her skin. She lay on her side, Gavin’s chest pressed to her back, his arm heavy and slack around her waist. His breathing was slow, deep, softer than she’d ever heard it.
She rolled onto her back, dislodging him. He didn’t move. His face turned toward her pillow, mouth slightly open, the lines of his forehead finally smoothed out. In sleep, he looked younger, less haunted.
The sheets were tangled, humid with the residue of sex and rain and skin. Her jeans were still balled on the floor, next to the pajama pants, both thrown haphazardly in their need for each other. She watched him sleep for a minute. Maybe more. She wanted to memorize the shape of him, the way his chest rose and fell, the way the old burn scar on his side caught the thin daylight and turned silver. She reached out to touch it but stopped just short, afraid to wake him. Afraid of what came after.
She eased out of bed, careful not to creak the boards. She showered and dressed in slow movements. Underwear, tee, jeans, all without looking away from the man in her bed. He mumbled something into the pillow, a word she didn’t catch, then stilled again.
She stepped to the door, put her hand on the knob, then looked back one last time. He was still there, sprawled and soft and completely at the mercy of sleep. She closed the door behind her, not slamming, just a careful click.
The ranch was quiet. The air was clean. All the mud and misery of the night washed away. Every puddle reflected the sky, thin blue breaking through in streaks, and for a minute, the world felt new.
She had no idea what would happen next. But for once, she was willing to wait and see.
Chapter 7
Gavin woke to the hush of pre-dawn, the soft cotton blanket twisted around his waist. The room was wrong. Too warm and flooded with the soft scent of someone else’s life. He shot upright, hands bracing on an unfamiliar mattress, heart jackhammering in the center of his chest.
It took three beats before he remembered whose bed this was, and why he was naked in it. Asha’s. Last night. Fuck.
He let the memory crash through his skull. Rain and mud, her pulling him out of the storm, the taste of her mouth, the way he’d pressed her against the wall like he was daring her to break.
The clock on the windowsill glowed 5:47. Dark enough that nobody with sense would be up. Gavin scanned the room for his clothes, found them folded at the end of the bed.
His jeans were pretty much dry from last night but still wet at the bottom. He forced them up over his thighs, every motion jerky and loud. The t-shirt stuck was stiff, inside out, and he spent a full minute trying to wrestle it down his body. He peeled it off and balled it in his fist, jaw working as he dropped it back to the floor.
The rage bloomed then, sudden and hot. At himself, for letting his guard slip. At her, for leaving him alone in her bed like an afterthought. At the whole fucked-up dynamic of how things felt between the two of them. The powerlessness, the way every boundary he’d built had been breached in a single, stupid night. He calmed down, picked up the shirt again, and yanked it over his head.
He stuffed his feet into his boots, not caring that the left sock was missing. It didn’t matter. What mattered wasgetting out before anyone caught him here. He eased the cabin door open, the hinges barely whispering. Paused. Scanned the horizon for movement but saw nothing but the shapes of the barns, the distant white line of the main house, and the wash of early light at the sky’s edge.
He stepped out, boots landing silent on the porch, before closing the door behind him. He moved fast down the walk, keeping to the shadow of the overhang. When he finally hit the gravel pathway he let out the breath he’d been holding.
