Page 60 of Roped in Rawhide

The creases on Chance’s forehead appear genuinely confused. “Why not?”

That’s a good question. I often wonder why I’m still fighting this. He’s not going to relent. It’s not in his nature. It’s also one of the qualities I love most about him.

A cringe scolds my choice of internal phrasing. Admiration is more appropriate for our… arrangement. As if it actually matters when this conflict is all in my head.

“Chance,” I utter softly.

His sulk is pitiful. “I don’t like that tone.”

“Well, I don’t like it when you put me in a tough position.”

A wolfish smirk appears from the ashes of his momentary upset. “You didn’t mind it in the trailer.”

Fire burns my cheeks. “That was different.”

“It was purely physical.” His jaw clenches, grinding back and forth.

“Can’t you see where I’m coming from?”

He nods slowly. “But how can I convince you to trust me with your heart if you refuse to fully open yourself up to the possibility?”

“I don’t know,” I admit on a whisper.

“Please, baby. Just try to trust me. I’d rather slice off my own leg than hurt you again. Believe in me.” The desperation pooling in his bottomless green depths convinces me to step onto the ledge.

“No promises, but I’ll let you take me on this surprise outing.”

“Date,” he corrects.

“Don’t push it.” And then I’m striding away to fetch socks.

Chance’s mood rebounds faster than his erection. He’s practically floating when I return to the entryway and snag my purse off the hook. Before I can usher him out, he scoops me into his arms. My weight gets balanced to his left while he takes the liberty of locking the door.

I thread my fingers together at the back of his neck. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Totally agree. Two separate homes is keeping us apart. Should I move in here or are you cool living at my house? When is your lease up?”

All I can do is laugh. “I was referring to you carrying me.”

He’s jogging down the stairs like I’m a bag of flour. “We’ve been over this. I’ll use any excuse to touch you as much as possible.”

“There are other ways of doing so that don’t involve a very public display.” I wave awkwardly to Mrs. Carson who lives on the floor below me.

The older woman gawks at my cradled form in Chance’s strong grip.

“She’s jealous Mr. Carson doesn’t sweep her off her feet anymore,” he murmurs.

“Darn tootin’,” she hollers after us. “Don’t let that one get away, Gemma!”

“Oh, gosh.” I press my face into Chance’s chest, which is a grave mistake.

His pine and trouble scent intoxicates me. That’s my only excuse for not putting up more of a fuss as he deposits me into the passenger seat. I don’t even have to buckle myself.

As he rounds the hood to get behind the wheel, I notice a recognizable package in the center console. Chance catches where my focus has landed. His smile is boyish as if he’s suddenly bashful.

“I reckon those are still your favorite. Whenever you need a sweet treat at the store, that’s what you go for.”

Of course he pays attention to the smallest details. It’s a thoughtful gesture. I stare at the bag of Reese’s Pieces for entirely too long.