Page 41 of Perfect Cowboy

“There’s only one bedroom?”

She nods. “You can have it. I don’t mind. You won’t even fit on the couch.”

The statement isn’t incorrect, but my mama didn’t raise me to be an asshole. It’s not like I’ll be sleeping much anyway between managing the fire and agonizing over my aching dick.

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply. “The bed is all yours.”

I stride over to the counter and grab both plates, carrying them to the small table, and Ashley follows behind me with the wine.

When she passes me a glass, I drain half of it in a single sip without tasting anything.

And then my jaw nearly drops to the ground when she pulls the sweatshirt over her head, revealing a tight white tank top that shows off way too much cleavage and the bottom of her flat, toned stomach.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

She frowns at me. “Taking off my sweatshirt, what does it look like I’m doing? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s really hot in here. I’m tempted to go stand outside for a few minutes.”

The woodstove is pumping because I really stacked the logs in there when I was looking for something my idle hands could do to stay busy.

But I didn’t realize my actions were going to result in Ashley stripping, or I would have found something else to do.

Jesus, she’s not wearing a bra.

I’m almost sure of it. Another glance confirms my suspicion because as hot as she claims to be, her nipples could cut glass andgoddamnthe view should be criminal.

“I’m gonna need the rest of that bottle,” I grumble, heading back to the kitchen to get a refill.

But two can play this game. I see how she looks at me and know that she isn’t immune. I yank my hoodie off and then pull at the neck of my T-shirt to remove it, tossing both items onto the back of the couch.

“And now what are you doing?” Ashley asks, and I’m pleased that her voice cracks.

“It’ssohot,” I tease.

She doesn’t even pretend that she isn’t looking at me, and a woman’s gaze has never felt so intimate. She starts at my pecs and slowly moves down to my abs before landing right on my dick, which is most definitely still half-hard.

When her eyes return to mine, she’s biting her pouty lower lip and dinner is not even on the top hundred list of things I’m craving to eat.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

I’m tempted to rip my jeans off, but refrain and sit at the table instead. My gaze stays on Ashley while I start shoveling food into my mouth, and her hand shakes when she brings the wineglass to her pretty pink lips.

“Tell me why you’re back,” I say. “We have nothing else to do.”

“I don’t know about that,” she mutters. “I can think of a few better things to do.”

Oh, me too.

She lets out a loud sigh and keeps her eyes on the plate. “I got laid off from my job and my now ex-fiancé traded me in for a younger model all in the same week. Oh, and he took all the money from our bank account.”

The thought of Ashley loving someone enough to agree to marry him does something to my insides that I really don’t like.

Of course, I didn’t expect her to be pining over me for years. It was only reasonable that we’d both move on and find other partners.

But it’s still not pleasant to think about it.

“You’re not even thirty. Did he opt for a teenager?”

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