Page 79 of Roped in Rawhide
“I’ll kill any guy who stares at your tits or ass.”
“What if they’re just admiring my updo or makeup? My red lipstick compliments the smoky shades of my eyeshadow.” She bats her thick lashes and pretends to fluff her golden hair that’s pinned into some complicated, braided twist.
“That’ll be their eyeballs’ last mistake.”
Gemma giggles, stretching tall to give me a kiss. “But seriously, what have you planned for us on this Friday night?”
“Something that’s been on my mind for a very long time. I want to right another wrong.”
“How mysterious.”
“After you, Wildflower.” I shoo our driver away when he attempts to open the door for her, keeping that honor for myself.
She slides across the beige leather interior as if it’s made from glass. “This is very fancy. I might be underdressed.”
“It’s completely unnecessary to dig for compliments looking the way you do.” The custom fit of my suit earns its value when I comfortably take my seat beside her. “You could wear a grain sack and be the most beautiful woman there.”
Gemma snuggles against me. “And where is there?”
Rather than answer, I grab the two plastic containers tucked in a side compartment. The lid for hers pops open to reveal a small arrangement of purple roses mixed with clusters of lilacs and violets. My fingers gently lift the corsage while I motion for her left wrist. The stretchy band secures it in place as she admires the unexpected addition to her outfit.
I pass her the other domed box. “Your turn.”
She removes the boutonnière, which is a simplified version of her three flowers. Her hand hovers over my chest with uncertainty. “Where do I put this?”
My index finger taps my left lapel. “Stick me good.”
Her giggle is a potent aphrodisiac while she leans in and pins it in the perfect spot. “Are you finally taking me to the prom or something?”
“Or something,” I murmur against her warm cheek.
“You’ve had me curious all week.”
“My lips are sealed.” I lock them before throwing away the key.
She sighs, but doesn’t push for more. A bottle of Dom Pérignon is properly chilled in the ice bucket, providing a distraction. Her gaze watches my steady grip as I hold two glasses between my fingers and fill them to the brim.
She accepts one in a trembling grasp, taking extra care not to drop it. The bubbles tickle her nose and she laughs like a teenager sneaking booze from her parents. “I can’t believe we’re drinking Dom Pérignon. This stuff is really expensive.”
“Nothing is too expensive when it comes to you.”
Her quirked brow is ready to call my bluff. “Care to place a wager?”
“What are the stakes?”
Gemma sips on the champagne while considering our potential bet. “If you win, I’ll agree to be yours. Completely.”
“Deal,” I blurt.
Her eyes narrow. “But what if I win?”
“You won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger, speaking my conviction against her ruby-stained lips. “I’ll spend every penny to my name if it means you’ll open your heart to me.”
“That’s awful risky,” she purrs.
