Page 82 of Don't Leave Me Behind
I’m swiping on some soft pink lip gloss when Clay emerges from the bathroom. He’s pulling a forest green t-shirt down his torso. His abs and deep V cut enough of a tease to send liquid heat straight to my core. His belt is hanging open off his hips like an unholy invitation to explore exactly what he’s got under those jeans.
Holy shit, my cowboy is hot. He’s in a pair of dark wash Wranglers, the kind that hug his ass and thighs within an inch of their lives. He’s still wearing socks, but cowboys have a thing about their boots. They don’t need a million pairs of shoes, only one good pair that they wear with everything. Because once they’re broken in, they’re basically a part of you.
That’s what this feeling is, when I look at Clay. A well-worn pair of boots that fit just the right way. I never want to try another pair on, because they’d never feel this good, this right.
Clay stops dead in his tracks. He gives up trying to thread his belt through the buckle, his pupils dilating when he looksme over. Giving a low whistle, he swaggers his way towards me, pulling me to him with a hand on the back of my neck. It’s possessive, strong, and oh God, I should have worn panties. I’m going to make a mess of these shorts by the time the night is over.
“Leni.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Baby.” Another kiss on the other side. “You.” Kiss. “Look.” Kiss. “Edible.” Kiss. The way he says edible is sin personified, his voice dripping with sex and need, that same need vibrating down to my very bones.
“You trying to get me out of this cabin, or into that bed, Cowboy?”
“Both.” He shoots me a wolfish grin before taking my mouth in a knee-buckling kiss. Clay kisses me like he’s drowning, like he’s been lost at sea, and I’m the first sign of land he’s seen. Clinging to me like his life depends on it, and I am here for it. I’d be his life raft any time, if it means being kissed like this. Like I’m the only person on this planet. Like I’m the only thing he needs.
“Date night first, then?” I giggle, pulling away from him before we end up staying in for the night. I swipe a new layer of lip gloss on before following him down the stairs. He keeps a warm palm on the small of my back, and I can’t help but wish we were going out in public tonight. I’d love to hit up the Rusted Rail and have Clay’s hands all over me, claiming me in front of everyone. The thought sends a shiver straight through me.
I am so gone for him.
We turnoff the highway onto a lease road, and I know exactly where we’re going. The swimming hole is on our ranch,though it’s usually easiest to get to on horseback. There aren’t any roads that lead directly there, but there’s a well-worn path from the lease road, thanks to the countless parties we had out here growing up.
I can barely contain my grin when we stop at the head of that path, Clay getting out to open my door. He surprises me when he opens the back door and pulls out a picnic basket, like an honest-to-God, wicker picnic basket. He also has a reusable shopping bag that looks like it’s filled to the brim with supplies.
“Clayton Traeger, did you—did you plan an actual date for us?”
The tips of his cheeks are pink, but he gives me a little head dip. He shuffles the bags off to one side and offers me his hand. I take it, interlacing our fingers as we walk the quarter mile inland to our private swimming hole. It’s not a natural spot. Mercer and Ethan got tired of having to drive all the way to the lake or into town to swim. So they’d taken the tractor and skid steer into the field and dug our very own swimming hole.
They’d neglected to ask dad’s permission, but he’d been pleasantly surprised by how well it had turned out. Of course, he had to punish them for the insanely high water bill they’d accrued trying to fill it. They’d spent that summer rerouting the fences around the swimming hole so we didn’t have to worry about cows and manure dirtying up the water. I’ve seen my parents drive down with their side-by-side to sit by the water many nice summer evenings.
The swimming hole was very well thought out, actually. There’s a gradual incline that leads into the deeper parts, making it perfect for littles, but also fun enough for the teenage boys who dug it. Brooks built a little dock in the deep end, and I can’t be sure, but I’m fairly certain they get it stocked with fish every year so they can come down and fish. Toby commandeered an old telephone pole that the boys stuck intothe ground at an angle. He built a little platform and hung a rope swing that will fling you off into the deep.
There’s a natural little grove of trees that surrounds it, and it’s honestly one of my favorite places in the world. Clayton lays out a blanket near the shallow end, setting out a couple of towels as well. Opening the picnic basket, he sets out plates, like actual ceramic plates, two wine glasses, a bottle of Moscato, and a full-blown meal. There are sandwiches from Winnie’s, a cute little cafe in town that shares my mother’s belief that sandwiches do not have to be boring. There’s a little tub of potato salad and some chocolate-covered strawberries. I don’t even know where he would have gotten them, but I don’t care. This is the nicest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
I sit down on the blanket, crossing my legs as I take the glass of wine he offers me. It’s sweet and fizzy, and exactly what I like. “Clay, this is…” I look away from him, out over the water as emotion threatens to take me. “It’s too much,” I whisper.
“This is the bare minimum. You deserve so much more than a little picnic at the swimming hole. It’s a start, though. The first of many dates that I intend to take you on.”
I turn back to look at him, and I can practically feel the stars in my eyes. This is perfect. Reaching up to cup his cheek, I pull him into me, hoping I can convey all the love and gratitude I’m feeling in this kiss.
The moment his hand slips into my hair, tugging gently to angle my head and take the kiss deeper, I know we’re not getting into the food. At least not right away.
Clay pulls away from me when we’re both breathless. Taking our wine glasses, he sets them carefully on the picnic basket that he somehow transformed into a little table. When he turns back to me, the hunger in his eyes is palpable. He looks like he wants to eat me alive, and I can only hope that I looklike I’d let him. Because the things he can do with that tongue are just the right amount of wicked.
“This top,” he whispers into my neck, running his fingers along the thin straps of my crop. His fingers slip under one strap, letting it fall down my shoulder. He trails them across my breasts to the other side, lowering that strap too. This shouldn’t be that erotic, but I can barely breathe; it’s so good. “I like that it shows off my marks.”
I bite my lip, looking up at him through my lashes. “Not second-guessing them now, are you, Cowboy?”
Pressing an open-mouth kiss to the bite mark on my shoulder closest to him, I feel his tongue lave at my skin, shivers erupting over my whole body.
“Nah, baby, you like them, so I like them.”
“Yes.” My voice is breathy and quiet, and we’ve barely even started. I reach for Clay's shirt, but he grabs both my wrists and holds them up above my head. In one swift motion, he has me lying on my back, arms stretched up above me, Clay straddling my middle. He shifts his grip so one hand is holding both of mine and reaches into his back pocket. He drags a pair of handcuffs up my stomach and over my chest, dangling them off one finger in front of me.
“Eleanor Kane, you are under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Interfering with a police investigation.”
“What are you investigating, Deputy?” My voice dips low and sultry.
