Page 26 of 11 Cowboys

So, I shift slightly, and he closes the laptop with a softclickand gently slides it off my lap, placing it carefully on the swing beside me.

Then we kiss.

And neither of us holds anything back.

Even though I know this is stupid, I want the heat, the mess, the permission not to think. I want to forget my complications and the stress of city life, forget why I came here, forget the story and, how Conway’s gaze steadies me in a way I don’t understand. I want to forget what a good family man Corbin is, or how Cody and Nash made me laugh, or how McCartney’s eyes settled against my skin like stroking fingers, and all the others whom I’ve yet to discover.

Right now, I want the familiarity of letting go, and the delicious yet futile hope for pleasure I only seem to be able to manage when I’m sleeping.

From the moment I laid my eyes on Levi, I sensed he was a man who knows his way around a woman’s body. I knew he’d be the first to try to bed me because he wears that fuck-boy swagger like cheap cologne and leather boots. Maybe he’ll read my complexities and figure out the unsolvable riddle of my orgasm. Maybe he’ll lasso my pleasure and drag it out of me like a reluctant steed.

My mouth catches his in a kiss that’s full of heat andspark and too many years of wrong choices. He tastes like trouble and something sweeter, like candy at midnight, like sunsets, like relief.

Levi makes a low sound in his throat, satisfied, then deepens the kiss, his hands sliding to my waist, already proving he knows how I like to be touched. It feels instinctive, and my heart skitters. I press into him, and he pulls me into his lap without breaking contact, fingers brushing under the hem of my shirt, palms rough and warm and sure. His mouth moves to my jaw, then my neck, teasing fire under my skin with every press of lips and teeth.

“You always this easy to distract?” he murmurs against my throat.

“Only when I’m bored,” I lie.

He chuckles, low and dangerous, and the next thing I know, I’m in his arms, literally. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my laptop forgotten, the door to reason slamming shut behind us.

“Levi—” I manage, though it sounds more like a gasp than a protest.

“Shhh,” he says, that smile in his voice. “You don’t want to think right now, do you? You want to feel. You want to know.”

And damn it, if it isn’t true.

We don’t make it to the house. He heads for the nearest barn, still carrying me, his mouth hot against mine.

And all the promises I made myself after every previous mistake fall like confetti at our feet.

10

LEVI

Grace doesn’t hesitate. Not when I kiss her. Not when I touch her. Not when I slide my hands beneath her thighs and lift her off the porch swing like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

Because I have, just not with her.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders without question, legs snug at my waist. I walk us across the yard with that same slow swagger I always lean into when I want to feel in control, kissing her between steps like it’s the only thing keeping us upright.

The barn’s closest. It’s secluded, dry, and comfortable enough for what we’re both looking for. I know where the hay’s softest, where the shadows fall long, and where the doors creak unless you’re careful.

Conway’s going to be pissed. No question. He’ll call this recklessness. He’ll say it puts our story at risk, the family at risk. He’ll tell me Grace needs to be handled like a professional or a guest, not a woman or a sex object.

But I don’t think long-term. That isn’t my lane. That’sConway’s, or Dylan’s, or Corbin’s.

I’m the one who keeps it light. Who smiles through the hard shit. Who knows exactly how to make a woman melt with a joke and a hand placed just right.

That’s what I’m good at.

It’s what I’m built for, and if Grace spends any more time here, that’s what she’ll see.

I might as well show her early.

It’s warmer inside the barn and thick with hay and the faint scent of horses and leather. I set Grace down gently after I press her back into the wooden beam inside the door and kiss her slowly. I want to make sure she remembers this part later. She arches into me, fingers already in my hair, mouth parted and eager, and God, she tastes good. Like bourbon, heat, and, sweet words. Like county fair cotton candy and first kisses.

Her body’s all curves and contradictions; firm where she’s sure of herself, soft where she’s still hiding, and I want all of it, not because I think I deserve it, but because I know how to give her what she’s asking for without her needing to say a word.