Page 57 of Forbidden Rancher's Return
The man underneath it is still the one I've loved since I was old enough to understand what love costs.
Ten minutes.
I let him pull me back down.
His mouth finds mine slowly. No urgency, just heat and patience and the luxury of kissing someone when you have nowhere else you'd rather be.
My hand slides up his chest, and he makes a low sound against my lips that undoes every sensible thought I own.
"You're not making this easy," I murmur.
"Not trying to."
I push him onto his back. He goes willingly. Hands on my hips as I settle over him, the sheet tangled between us.
His eyes darken and his grip tightens and I watch his control thin out in real time. I like it. I like that I can do this to him.
The man who never flinches, who stands in front of headlights and takes punches without blinking, coming apart under my hands because I put them on him.
"For a man who claims to be grumpy, you're very cooperative right now."
His hands settle on my hips. "I'm selectively grumpy."
"Is that right."
"I have a list."
"Of course you do."
I lean down and kiss his throat. His jaw. The bruise barely there now. His breath catches and his hands slide up my thighs, and I stop talking because what he does next is very thorough and very specific and involves his fingers and then his mouth.
I forget that mornings on a ranch are supposed to start with horses and coffee and sensible decisions.
Twenty minutes. Not ten.
I don't regret a single one.
Afterward I'm warm all the way through, and Rowan is tracing slow patterns up my spine and the horses are going to have strong opinions about the delayed breakfast.
"The barn," I say.
"Still burned down," he confirms.
"That's not funny."
"A little funny."
I press my face into his shoulder to hide the smile he does not need to see. His chest shakes under my cheek. The quiet laugh he keeps mostly to himself, the one that only comes out when he trusts where he is.
I lift my head. Look at him.
"Don't get used to this," I say.
His eyes soften. "Too late."
Downstairs. Coffee. Try not to smile like an idiot at the kitchen wall.
Mostly fail.
