Page 18 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

“Did she deliver a closet?” she asks, like this is the most normal interaction we’ve ever had.

“That’s what I said.” I try not to sound like my brain just stopped functioning. “Kinsley said the sparkly boots are from Summer.”

I walk over to her, carefully keeping my eyes on her face and not on the fact that her collarbone is still damp and the towel is dangerously low on her chest.

“Thanks. I honestly don’t deserve any of this,” she says, reaching for the bag.

Her fingers graze mine, and that’s all it takes for heat to crawl down the back of my neck.

“Of course you do, darlin’. You deserve it all.”

She holds the bag against her hip and gives me that slow, gorgeous smile of hers. “Don’t go anywhere.”

I blink. “What?”

“I need your help,” she says, backing toward the door. “I want to seem like I belong at this rodeo, and if anyone can help me pass, it’s you. Being a cowboy is your wheelhouse.”

I stare at her. “You want me to pick out your clothes?”

“Yep,” she says, amused. “Help me play the part.”

She disappears into the bedroom with a laugh and the bag of clothes swinging at her side, leaving me standing in the hallway like I’ve been punched in the chest.

I press my hands to my hips and shake my head. This woman is going to be the end of me. And the worst part is, I don’t even mind.

Without a word, I step inside with her, and I can’t help but notice how naturally gorgeous she is. My brain short-circuits.

She’s wrapped in a single white towel, her bare legs and shoulders still dewy from the shower.

Her hair’s damp and already curling at the ends.

She smells like soap and something vaguely citrus.

Carefully, she empties the big bag on the bed, sending different-colored fabrics spilling everywhere. On top are the sparkly silver boots.

“Okay,” she says, hands on her hips. “Make me a rodeo princess.”

I notice the curve of her collarbone, how the towel clings just above her chest, the line of her thigh when she shifts her weight to one leg. I’ve never had the urge to kiss someone more in my life.

She glances back at me. “You with me, cowboy?”

Barely.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat, stepping closer to the bed.

I force myself to focus on the pile in front of me.

“Darlin’ you’d better be glad I grew up with so many sisters.”

“I am,” she says as I spread all the shirts and shorts on the bed.

There are crop tops and tank tops and short-sleeved checkered-pattern shirts in different colors.

“Let’s start with this.” I grab a blouse with a ruffle and hand it to her, then grab a pair of dark-washed cutoffs. “With these shorts. It’s a good outfit. Honest.”

She takes them from me, fingers brushing against mine. “Honest,” she repeats. “Is that cowboy code for tight ?”

“It’s cowboy code for you’re gonna kill me, along with every other man who’s there tonight .”

She laughs, then picks up the cutoffs. “Just my size.”

My throat goes dry.

She tosses them onto the bed. “Hmm. there’s only one thing missing.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A cowboy hat.”

I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head at her. “You know what they say. Wear the hat and …”

Her brows lift. “And what?”

Words disappear.

I excuse myself and walk into the closet, grabbing one of my cowboy hats. When I return, I place it on her head. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

That lip finds its way between her teeth. I turn her around to face the full-length mirror. She adjusts the brim as she checks her reflection. This woman is wrapped in a towel, wearing my hat and smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I drag a hand down my face. “You’re dangerous.”

She turns, wide-eyed and innocent. “Me?”

“ You. ”

She takes a step closer to me. Not much, but it’s enough for me to notice.

“Good,” she says. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

I want to press her back against that dresser, pull her face into my hands, and kiss her like I’ve been thinking about doing since the first time she smiled at me like that. But instead, I clear my throat and step away. Boundaries cannot be crossed.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” I tell her. “If you’re not ready by the time I’m done showerin’, I’m comin’ to finish the job myself.”

She smirks. “Promise?”

With a chuckle, I move into the hallway to give her privacy. She’s going to be the death of me, and I’m starting to think I’d let her.

I take the fastest shower I can manage, letting the cold water run longer than necessary to help cool me off.

It doesn’t help as much as I’d like. My pulse is still racing.

My mind’s still back in the bedroom, stuck on the image of her skin wrapped in that towel, wearing a smile that feels like it was reserved just for me.

When I step out, my hair is still dripping, and I’ve got a towel slung low on my hips.

I walk into my bedroom, and she’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed like she belongs there. One hand is flipping through the pages of the leather journal I gave her, and the other is twirling a pen between her fingers. She freezes when she sees me.

I smirk, knowing two can play this game. Her gaze starts at my face, travels down past my tattoo, and lingers a little too long on my stomach before landing squarely on my cock.

“Something wrong, darlin’?” I ask, my voice calm, enjoying this more than I should.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I cross the room to my dresser and pull out a clean pair of jeans. I know she’s still watching me because I catch her in the mirror. I let the towel fall and make no effort to hide myself as I pull on some boxers and Wranglers.

I hear her suck in a sharp breath behind me.

I smile to myself as I button and zip my jeans. “You sure you’re too damn old for this?”

Her silence tells me she’s trying to form a comeback, but can’t quite find one.

I turn toward her, still shirtless, noticing how she’s ogling me. “That’s what I thought.”

She shakes her head and laughs, flustered, but trying not to show it. She closes the journal a little too quickly.

“I think I liked you better when you were shy,” she says.

“I was never shy. Just respectful,” I reply, putting on an undershirt, then moving to my walk-in closet. “Had to see if you could handle it.”

“Guess I passed?”

I dip my head out of the closet. “Ya did. Now I’m gonna make sure I’m not the only one losing my mind in this house. You tease me. I’mma tease you back.”

She scoffs. “Is that a threat?”

I grab a black Western shirt with pearl buttons and slide it on over my shoulders, then grab my nice pair of boots. I move to the bed, sitting beside her as I put them on. “That’s a damn promise.”

We’re close—too close—and her smile softens as she stares at me. Sunny moves her journal onto the nightstand and swings her legs over the bed.

“Ready to go show off?” I ask.

“I suppose,” she says.

She stands slowly—boots already on, shirt on, cutoffs barely legal, and that damn hat tilted so effortlessly. I adjust her shirt, pushing the sleeves down her shoulders.

“Should be worn like this,” I tell her, noticing goose bumps trail across her arms when I touch her.

The golden light from the window cuts across her bare shoulders and legs, and for a second, I forget we’re not strangers.

I take a step back just to get a full view, like I need distance to survive it.

“Damn,” I say because it’s the only thing that makes it out of my mouth. “You’re a cowboy princess.”

She grins, tilting the brim of the hat. “Yeah?”

“You’re dressed like you belong,” I confess.

She walks toward me with lethal confidence.

“Well,” she says, stopping just shy of my chest, “that was kind of the point.”

I stare at her lips for a beat too long. “Behave.”

“No promises,” she offers as she brushes past me.

Every part of me wants to reach for her. Touch her. Say something that means more than it’s supposed to. But instead, I grab my keys and follow her out the door, trying to pretend she isn’t exactly what I’ve been waiting for my entire life.