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I came to the Motley Crewd Ranch to breathe.

To forget for a while.

I didn’t come here to get tangled up in the arms—and mouth and eyes and rough-as-sin voice—of a man like Zeke.

And it shouldn’t be this serious. It definitely shouldn’t be this fast.

But damn it, I already feel the hook in my chest.

Every time he looks at me, like I’m more than a fling, more than just a passing crush or pretty face—like I’m his—it makes something inside me ache.

Can I really make long-term plans with a cowboy?

Can I see myself staying here, growing roots, turning this hot summer escape into something permanent?

I don’t know.

I only know how I feel when I’m near him—safe, desired, precious.

And maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.

Because once you feel like that?

How do you go back to anything less?

This place? It feels like magic. Or maybe that’s just him.

All I really know is I like how I feel when I’m with Zeke, and I’m not ready to end it just yet.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-ZEKE

Sixteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

That’s how long since I saw her last and each fucking tick of the clock is like a gong blasting inside of me.

Everyone is in their bathing suits, and I swear Kian has a pair of floaties on his arms that are about to pop and a thick white stripe of zinc oxide down his nose like some crazy real life version of Larry the Lobster.

Finally, she steps out into the sun like it’s nothing.

Like the entire fucking world isn’t about to tilt off its axis because of one woman in a tight white tee and a cherry-red bikini underneath.

I stop breathing.

Casey’s smiling—laughing, even—as Arliss splashes her, and Rosie squeals from somewhere behind the huge inflatable penguin Dante got her.

But all I see is her.

Kian cannonballs into the pool and splashes everyone within ten feet of where he jumped.

And that shirt Petals is wearing?

Well, now it’s plastered to her like a second skin.

Translucent, teasing every curve, every line.

The top of her bikini is cut low enough to damn near give me a stroke.

The fabric strains across the swell of her breasts, and her nipples—sweet Mother of Mercy—are hard and peaked under the fabric.