Page 23 of Wild Love, Cowboy (The Portree Cowboys #1)

I am not some kind of sneeze pervert.

And yet… here we are. Me, a kitchen, a woman mid-pollen-induced meltdown, and a painfully aware hard-on that’s threatening to file a formal complaint if I don’t do something about it.

Fuck my life.

I clear my throat. “You okay there, darlin’?” I manage to say, my voice cracking like I’m going through fucking puberty again.

I try to be genuine , I really do. I feel my eye twitching with the strain to stay at face level.

She holds up a single finger. One elegant, desperate little gesture—wait—before her body’s consumed again by another sneeze-turned-moan that has me wanting to drop to my knees and pray or maybe beg her to stop before I embarrass myself in ways a grown man should never have to explain.

“Bla-black pepper,” she chokes out between sneezes. “I’m allergic.”

And just like that—clarity.

I look down at the pepper grinder in my hand.

Back up at her.

Back down to the pepper.

Glare at it like it’s trying to steal my girl—then like any rational man being emotionally held hostage by his own erection—I yeet it. Full force launch it across the room, straight out the open window.

There. Gone. Problem handled.

Not the problem in your pants idiot. Sporting a damn pitch tent like I’m twelve and it’s my first time seeing boobs on cable. Please don’t look down. Please don’t look down . I mentally plead.

The air finally starts to clear. The sneezes slow, then stop. She’s breathless. A mess. Mascara smudged, lips parted, cheeks flushed like she just ran a marathon or had a masterclass solo orgasm against the kitchen counter.

I watch her dab at her eyes, embarrassed now, avoiding my gaze.

And me? I’m standing here with a dick harder than federal law allows, trying not to imagine what she'd sound like if I was the one making her lose control like that.

Yes, reader. I know, you don’t need to say it.

I’m about ten seconds away from finding my nearest “We listen, and we don’t judge” confession session.

“For the record,” I say, voice all husky and wrong, “that was, by far the sexiest sneezing fit I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” The smile that stretches across my face is criminal.

She glares up at me, still sniffling. “Not funny. And there’s no need for you to look so pleased with yourself.”

I grin, no apology in sight. “I disagree. It was both deeply concerning and... tragically arousing.” I lean in a little closer, dropping my voice to a sinful whisper. “Pretty sure you owe me dinner after that kind of foreplay.”

She groans, rolls her eyes, but there’s that twitch at the corner of her mouth—the one she gives me right before she either hits me or kisses me.

God, I hope it’s the latter.

“You're impossible,” she mutters, but a small smile tugs at her lips.

“So I've been told.” I hand her a glass of water, which she accepts gratefully. “You should have warned me about your pepper allergy. I would've been more careful.”

I lie.

A big ol’ bold-faced smiling lie.

Because the simple truth is; the horny devil in me now wants to put a big-ass barrel of pepper in every fucking room of this house.

She waves a hand, totally unaware of where my mind’s now rolling around in the gutter.

“It didn't seem relevant until you were waving it around while making inappropriate comments,” she retorts after taking a sip from her glass.

“Ah, so the question is…” I lean in slightly, voice dropping low enough to make her swallow hard. “Was it the pepper that made you all hot and bothered, or the inappropriate commentary?”

She rolls her eyes, but before she can respond, the back door swings open and Lily strolls in.

“Morning, roomies!” she calls cheerfully, then stops short at the sight of us. “Am I interrupting something? Gosh Mia, you look…positively glowing”

A bark of a laugh escapes me, unable to contain myself as I clear my throat trying to cover it.

“Just making breakfast,” I carry on smoothly, returning to the now-overcooked eggs. “And discussing Mia's intimate relationship with black pepper.” I wink for only her to see and chuckle at her blush.

“Black pepper and I are not on speaking terms,” Mia turns and explains to Lily, still dabbing at her watery eyes. “Never have been.”

Lily's gaze darts between us, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Interesting. And Grant just happened to be cooking with it while conveniently shirtless?” she asks all fake innocence.

I shoot my sister a warning look. “Don't you have somewhere to be?”

“Not until noon,” she says cheerfully. “Thanks for letting me crash again,” Lily says, walking around the kitchen island like she owns the place. “That couch and I are becoming one.” She crosses her fingers to emphasize the oneness.

Before I can retort, Lily moves over to the coffee pot and starts pouring herself a cup. “Anywho, I’ve got plenty of time now to get to know our new houseguest better.”

Mia shifts uncomfortably, clearly not thrilled at being the center of attention. “I should probably get back to work. Deadline and all that.”

“Without breakfast?” I protest, scraping the salvageable eggs onto a plate. “At least eat something first.” I say bringing the pan to the table.

“I'll make us some toast,” Lily offers “No pepper involved, I promise.”

Mia hesitates, then nods. “Okay, that would be nice. Thank you.”

As Lily busies herself with the bread, I lean closer to Mia. “Sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Which time?” she whispers back, a flash of her sharp wit returning. “The shirtless cooking or the explicit commentary?”

I grin, relieved she's not truly upset. “Both. Neither. I'm not actually sorry about either.” The grin threating to split my face open.

She shakes her head, but there's a smile playing at her lips. “You're incorrigible, anyone ever tell you that?.”

“Part of my charm darlin’.

“Is that what you call it?” she asks, her eyebrow quirked but there’s a twinkle in her eye.

Our banter is interrupted by Lily placing a plate of toast between us. “Here you go. Safe for consumption, even for those with delicate constitutions.” She says, perching on a stool across from us. “So, Mia, Grant mentioned you're a swimmer? Olympic level?”

Mia nods, seeming more comfortable discussing her career than our charged interaction. “Training for the Summer Games. Though being stranded in Texas has put a dent in my schedule.”

“Grant could take you to the Wellington community pool,” Lily suggests. “It's Olympic-sized. They built it when that swimmer—what was his name, Grant?”

“Harmon Bonn,” I supply. “He grew up in Wellington before winning gold.”

“That's the one,” Lily confirms.

“Anyway, the town invested in a proper pool after he got famous. Grant knows the manager—he could probably get you in during the off-hours this week.”

“I already offered,” I say, sliding a fresh mug of coffee toward Mia. “We can go when the pool opens on Monday, if you still want to?.”

“That would be...” Mia hesitates, clearly torn between maintaining her independence and accepting help. “...really helpful. Thank you.”

“It's settled then,” Lily declares, which seems to be her go to catchphrase lately, as she steals a piece of my toast. “A swimming date.”

“It's not a date,” Mia and I say simultaneously, then look at each other in surprise.

Lily just smirks. “Uh-huh, sure it's not.” As she turns and digs for something in the fridge.

After breakfast, Mia retreats to her room to work, leaving me alone with my sister in the kitchen.

“Subtle matchmaking, Lil,” I comment dryly as I clean up. “About as subtle as a toddler set loose with a lit match in a hay barn.”

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Someone had to do something. You two were dancing around each other like teenagers.” She lets out a giggle, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder.

“We're not dancing around anything. She's leaving as soon as she gets a new passport.”

“So? That doesn't mean you can't enjoy each other's company in the meantime.” Lily's expression softens.

“Grant, you’re my brother, so I have to love you.

But believe me when I say, that this is the first time I've seen you genuinely interested in someone in years.

Don't waste it because you're afraid of an expiration date.”

“I'm not afraid,” I protest, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.

“Please,” Lily scoffs. “You've been playing it safe since Jake died. Taking physical risks—” she gestures to my injured shoulder—sure, but emotional ones? Not a chance.”

Her words hit too close to home, and I turn away, focusing on scrubbing an already clean pan.

“She's different,” Lily continues more gently. “I can see it in the way you look at her.”

“It doesn't matter. She's got a life waiting for her—Olympic training, travel writing. She's not staying in Portree.”

“Maybe not,” Lily concedes. “But that doesn't mean this can't matter while it lasts.”

I sigh, setting the pan down. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”

“Oh, you know, just while you were busy being emotionally constipated big brother,” she retorts with a grin, then grows serious. “Just... don't push her away because you're scared of getting hurt. You deserve something real, even if it's temporary.”

After Lily leaves, I stand in the empty kitchen, her words echoing in my mind. The thought of Mia leaving makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. Yet the idea of asking her to stay feels equally impossible.

What could I possibly offer that would compete with the life she's built?