Page 17 of Promised Cowboy

I don’t say it out loud.

Not yet.

But I think she knows.

Chapter 10 – Colton

She’s still asleep when I wake.

The early morning light filters through the curtains, spilling across her bare shoulder where the sheet’s slipped down. Her hair’s a mess, and there’s a crease on her cheek from the pillow. She looks like something out of a dream — all flushed skin and softness, curled into my side like she belongs there.

I don’t move.

I just lie there and breathe her in. The faint scent of rain still clings to her hair, mixed with the sweet vanilla of her skin. My hand rests lightly on her hip, fingers curled against warm flesh. I can still feel her everywhere — the way she moved under me, the sound of her voice when she came apart, the way she whispered my name like it meant something.

Because to me, it does.

Last night wasn’t casual.

Not for me.

I’ve waited years to have her back in my life like this. To touch her. Taste her. Know what it’s like to finally be inside the woman I’ve loved in one form or another since we were too young to say the word out loud.

She sighs in her sleep, pressing closer, and my heart stutters.

I want to believe this means something to her too.

* * *

When she finally stirs, the sun’s a little higher and the room a little warmer. I feel her body stretch beside me, slow and languid, before she turns her face toward mine.

“Hey,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Hey,” she says back, voice still sleep-rough and soft.

She offers a small smile, but there’s something guarded behind it. Subtle. Not quite distance, but not full presence either.

“You sleep okay?” I ask.

She nods, pulling the sheet up slightly as she sits up. “Yeah. I think I needed it.”

I watch her as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and reaches for her shirt. She’s quiet, focused on getting dressed like it’s suddenly very important.

I sit up slowly, heart thudding just a little harder than I’d like to admit.

“You heading out?” I ask.

She glances back at me, her smile returning, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I should. Rachel’s probably wondering where I am.”

She pulls her sweatshirt over her head and smooths her hair back with both hands, not looking at me as she talks. I want to reach out, draw her back in, but something holds me still.

“You don’t have to rush off,” I say.

“I know,” she replies gently. “But I probably should.”

I stand and grab my jeans from the floor, tugging them on as I watch her gather the rest of her things. The space between us grows by the second, not with anger or coldness — but something quieter.