Page 11 of Promised Cowboy
Lacey looks down at her bottle. “Maybe I did too.”
That admission lands harder than I expect.
I move around the table slowly, my footsteps the only sound in the room now. She looks up when I stop beside her, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
“If I kiss you right now,” I say quietly, “is that going to wreck this?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes stay locked on mine. There’s something unsteady in her gaze — but not unwilling. Her breath catches.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But I think I want you to anyway.”
That’s all I need.
I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers trail along her cheek. Her skin is warm, smooth, and I feel her lean ever so slightly into my touch.
When I lean down, she tilts her chin up without hesitation.
The kiss starts soft.
Just a brush of lips. Careful. Testing.
But then her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and I feel the quiet inhale she takes against my mouth, and everything inside me tilts.
I slide my hand to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss as years of quiet wanting crack wide open. She kisses me back like she’s been waiting just as long, her lips parting under mine, her body leaning closer until nothing exists but the warmth of her and the way she tastes like summer and memory.
I walk her back a step, then another, until her hips meet the edge of the table. She grips the edge behind her, anchoring herself as I press in close, letting the heat between us take over.
This isn’t a kiss that asks for permission anymore. It’s one that claims.
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it punches straight through me.
My mouth moves from her lips to the curve of her jaw, and she tilts her head back, breath hitching.
“Colton…”
I pause, forehead resting against hers. We’re both breathing hard now, the space between us almost nonexistent.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
She nods, her hands sliding up my chest. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“Like what?”
She swallows. “Like I never left.”
I lean in and kiss her again, slower this time. Softer. But no less certain.
When we finally pull apart, I don’t move far. My hand stays on her waist, hers still resting on my chest. Her eyes search mine like she’s looking for an answer to a question she hasn’t figured out how to ask yet.
“I meant what I said,” I murmur.
She nods. “I know.”
And I can see it—she’s fighting something. Some wall that hasn’t come down yet. That’s okay. I’ve waited this long.
I can wait a little longer.
But I’m not pretending anymore.