Page 18 of Wrangling Wade

"I have a couple dozen paintings already," she blurts. "And two years' worth of drawings."

"Excellent!" Eve cries, clapping her hands. "We'll set up a time to go through them, start working on a theme, a night, the guest list…"

Harlow just gapes at her, shell-shocked.

Eve notices and chuckles, squeezing her hand. "It's not happening nearly as quickly as you think it is, Harlow," she murmurs. "And it's overwhelming, but that's part of the fun. I'll do the heavy lifting. All you have to do is show up. Deal?"

"I…" Harlow looks to me.

"It's your call, beautiful," I murmur, not willing to make this decision for her. "It's your art, your dream. I'm just the guy who drove you here."

"Oh, I think you did a little more than that," she murmurs.

I wink at her, but don't say anything. Truthfully, I didn't do all that much. Her work spoke for itself. I just brought it where it needed to be seen.

"Deal," she says to Eve.

"You're in?" Eve confirms.

"Yes."

Eve beams at her, but Harlow isn't looking at her. She's staring at me, a mix of emotion on her face that has my heart threatening to pound clean through my chest.

Does she even know how beautiful she is? Or what she does when she looks at me like she thinks I'm something special? I'm just a cowboy. She might be a goddess.

I fully intend to make her my goddess.

As soon as westep outside of the gallery, she flings her arms around my neck, leaning up on her toes to press her lips to mine. "Thank you," she whispers, her tone fervent, the sun catching in her hair.

I grunt, catching her around the waist to kiss her properly. She goes pliant in my arms, mewling into my mouth. My dick presses against my zipper hard enough to leave indentions.

Fucking hell. I want her in ways I've never wanted anything.

I break the kiss, breathing hard.

"You don't have to thank me, Harlow," I murmur. "But anytime you feel the need, that's how you do it, all right?"

"Okay." She smiles at me, all shy and sweet, not even remotely like the guarded woman I met at the bar a week ago. This version of her is softer, sweeter, less cautious. I fucking love it.

"You hungry?"

"I could eat."

I grin, leading her back to the truck. "Tacos or steak?"

"The answer is always tacos, Wade."

She isn't wrong.

"Tacos it is," I agree, boosting her into the truck before circling around to the driver's side.

The drive to the Mexican restaurant takes all of two minutes. Harlow is a happy little clam beside me, practically squirming in her seat. She's fucking cute when she's happy, like she can't sit still or stop smiling. It looks good on her.

I snag a spot near the door and then hop out to help her out of the truck. But instead of setting her on her feet straight away, I slide her down my body this time, just to watch the way her eyes darken and she shivers.

Her hands tighten on my shoulders, a soft moan tumbling from her lips.

"Christ, I want to kiss you again," I groan, pinning her between my body and the side of the truck.