against the wall.
Amy yelped and lurched to a halt. “You scared me.”
“Sorry about that.”
She took in his casual stance. “You don’t look sorry.”
“I’m ready to ask you out.”
“Oh.” She tried to calm her racing heart, breathing deeply. Impossible. “Go ahead.”
“Amy, may I make you dinner at my house on Friday?”
She was ready with her answer. “No. Not a good idea. Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Rule number one. I put it in place for a reason.”
“Rule number one,” he muttered, swaggering closer, his thumbs hitched on his belt buckle. Not that she was looking there. He stopped close enough to touch her. She took another step back and bumped into the wall. “Amy, may I have dinner with you?”
“No.” The word was little more than a note on the wind.
She flattened her palms against the cool stucco wall as her eyes trailed a vein in his neck from where it began at his shirt collar to where it ended at the locks of hair peeking from beneath his Stetson. Something shifted inside her, something carnal and potent. She waited for him to touch her, arching her back, thrusting her breasts up, desperate to feel his hands on her body. What he did, though, was far more dangerous.
With a blazing expression in his eyes, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. “All this fancy stuff . . . I don’t think it’s for me,” he murmured.
The tie was off next, stuffed into a pocket. Maybe he heard her ragged intake of air because his gaze shifted to her lips as he unfastened his belt and dropped it to the ground. The metal buckle clanged on the cement. He loosened the top three buttons of his shirt, then tipped the brim of his hat lower over his brow.
Oh, damn . . .
She rocked to her toes and lassoed his neck with her arm. His hat tumbled off as she brought her lips to his. His hands wound into her hair. Crushing her to the wall, he devoured her. Thoroughly and without mercy, pinning her in place with his lower body as his lips and tongue caressed her. She snaked an arm around his side and grabbed his rock-hard ass.
With a labored grunt, he wrenched his lips from hers and propped his arm against the wall behind her, panting. She opened her eyes, expecting triumph in his expression, but all she saw was a raw heat that matched her own.
“I’ll pick you up Friday at six.”
Scooping his belt and hat from the ground, he walked away, listing a bit. She felt a stab of vanity for inducing that drunk walk. Then she asked herself what Jesus would do about temptation and sobered up in a hurry. Jesus would not give in to baser instincts because some cowboy was an amazing kisser and looked great in a pair of jeans.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched in the direction of the supermarket. Hopefully, when Jenna picked her up, she wouldn’t ask why her lips were swollen.
Chapter 4
Vaughn poked at the plate on his lap with a knife. “Lisa, why is there greenery on this cheese? I don’t have to eat it, do I? You know how I feel about greenery.”
Lisa took the plate from him and untied the string holding the leaf in place. “It’s something new we’re trying at the dairy, wrapping goat cheese in grape leaves to age it. You’re my testers.”
Kellan poured salsa into a bowl, tucked a bag of chips under his arm, and strolled to the living room, taking stock of the perfect picture before him—the Christmas tree that had taken him over an hour to select from the tree lot in Clovis, the fire crackling in the fireplace, and everyone he loved crowded onto his overstuffed sofa, save for Daisy and Max, who were out front playing fetch.
He handed a beer to Chris, who was snuggled deep into the sofa cushions with a sleeping Rowen on his shoulder. “I don’t see how you’ve survived this long with your eating habits, Vaughn.”
Lisa set the plate of unwrapped cheese on the table and reached into her bag for a second wedge of cheese. “Yes, well, he’d better shape up because someday
Amy yelped and lurched to a halt. “You scared me.”
“Sorry about that.”
She took in his casual stance. “You don’t look sorry.”
“I’m ready to ask you out.”
“Oh.” She tried to calm her racing heart, breathing deeply. Impossible. “Go ahead.”
“Amy, may I make you dinner at my house on Friday?”
She was ready with her answer. “No. Not a good idea. Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Rule number one. I put it in place for a reason.”
“Rule number one,” he muttered, swaggering closer, his thumbs hitched on his belt buckle. Not that she was looking there. He stopped close enough to touch her. She took another step back and bumped into the wall. “Amy, may I have dinner with you?”
“No.” The word was little more than a note on the wind.
She flattened her palms against the cool stucco wall as her eyes trailed a vein in his neck from where it began at his shirt collar to where it ended at the locks of hair peeking from beneath his Stetson. Something shifted inside her, something carnal and potent. She waited for him to touch her, arching her back, thrusting her breasts up, desperate to feel his hands on her body. What he did, though, was far more dangerous.
With a blazing expression in his eyes, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. “All this fancy stuff . . . I don’t think it’s for me,” he murmured.
The tie was off next, stuffed into a pocket. Maybe he heard her ragged intake of air because his gaze shifted to her lips as he unfastened his belt and dropped it to the ground. The metal buckle clanged on the cement. He loosened the top three buttons of his shirt, then tipped the brim of his hat lower over his brow.
Oh, damn . . .
She rocked to her toes and lassoed his neck with her arm. His hat tumbled off as she brought her lips to his. His hands wound into her hair. Crushing her to the wall, he devoured her. Thoroughly and without mercy, pinning her in place with his lower body as his lips and tongue caressed her. She snaked an arm around his side and grabbed his rock-hard ass.
With a labored grunt, he wrenched his lips from hers and propped his arm against the wall behind her, panting. She opened her eyes, expecting triumph in his expression, but all she saw was a raw heat that matched her own.
“I’ll pick you up Friday at six.”
Scooping his belt and hat from the ground, he walked away, listing a bit. She felt a stab of vanity for inducing that drunk walk. Then she asked herself what Jesus would do about temptation and sobered up in a hurry. Jesus would not give in to baser instincts because some cowboy was an amazing kisser and looked great in a pair of jeans.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched in the direction of the supermarket. Hopefully, when Jenna picked her up, she wouldn’t ask why her lips were swollen.
Chapter 4
Vaughn poked at the plate on his lap with a knife. “Lisa, why is there greenery on this cheese? I don’t have to eat it, do I? You know how I feel about greenery.”
Lisa took the plate from him and untied the string holding the leaf in place. “It’s something new we’re trying at the dairy, wrapping goat cheese in grape leaves to age it. You’re my testers.”
Kellan poured salsa into a bowl, tucked a bag of chips under his arm, and strolled to the living room, taking stock of the perfect picture before him—the Christmas tree that had taken him over an hour to select from the tree lot in Clovis, the fire crackling in the fireplace, and everyone he loved crowded onto his overstuffed sofa, save for Daisy and Max, who were out front playing fetch.
He handed a beer to Chris, who was snuggled deep into the sofa cushions with a sleeping Rowen on his shoulder. “I don’t see how you’ve survived this long with your eating habits, Vaughn.”
Lisa set the plate of unwrapped cheese on the table and reached into her bag for a second wedge of cheese. “Yes, well, he’d better shape up because someday
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