Page 18 of The Rancher’s Bride

Her mouth twitches. “Something like that.”

I move closer. “Didn’t know you drank whiskey.”

“I don’t, usually.”

“Then why’re you drinking mine?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

Her eyes meet mine for half a second, then shift away. “Finally, something we have in common.”

I grab another glass from the cabinet and step behind her to reach for the bottle. My chest brushes her shoulder.

The air feels thick all of a sudden. I can feel the heat coming off her bare skin. My hand closes around the bottle, but I don’t pick it up.

I’ve spent all week thinking about kissing her. But I’m done thinking. I put the glass down, wrap an arm around her waist, and pull her against me.

Sabrina gasps and turns in my arms. Her hands land against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.

The second my mouth hits hers, every fight, every dirty look, every hour I’ve spent wanting her comes apart at once. She kisses me back just as hard.

I back her against the counter. Her body presses into mine, warm and soft everywhere I’m hard, and the sound she makes against my mouth almost finishes me.

I kiss her deeper. She opens for me, and I drag her closer until there’s no space left between us. My cock is already rock hard, pressed against her stomach, and when she shifts against me, I nearly lift her onto the counter.

Then Sabrina jerks her mouth away.

She turns and braces both hands against the counter, breathing hard.

I stand behind her, trying not to grab her again. “What?”

“This isn’t a good idea.”

I stare at the back of her head. “Why the hell not?”

She glances over her shoulder, lips wet and swollen. “Because we fight constantly.”

“So?”

“So people who can barely spend five minutes together without arguing shouldn’t be involved.”

“We did fine today.”

“That was one day.”

“It was a good one.”

“One good day doesn’t mean we’re compatible.”

I step closer. “Maybe we’re not as wrong for each other as you think we are.”

She turns to face me and folds her arms across herself. “Damian, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who treats every disagreement like a fight he has to win.”

I open my mouth to argue. Then close it. Because that would prove her point.

“I’ve been an asshole,” I say.