CHAPTER 27
BLAIRE
M aggie’s fingers locked around mine, pulling me through the press of bodies toward the bar. I’d wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed tonight or into Colt, but Maggie was having none of it.
Instead, she’d coaxed me into wearing a tiny black satin dress that hugged my body like a second skin. The hem barely reached my fingertips, but paired with these crimson cowgirl boots, even I had to admit my legs looked longer than a country mile.
The Dusty Spur witnessed the birth of our friendship, so it was only fitting that we returned here tonight.
I felt lighter after the flood of confessions I’d unleashed at Maggie’s apartment after leaving June’s.
I worked in the fields all day, then June simmered the jams while I canned and slapped on the labels and ribbon.
But I thought of nothing but Colt.
“It’s just physical,” I insisted to Maggie over our second glass of cheap rosé. “We’re just scratching an itch.”
She’d been unconvinced, and I didn’t blame her.
It hadn’t even been a full week since I’d let Colt first touch me, and the tender ache between my legs became a constant companion. My inner thighs were chafed with what I’d jokingly dubbed “stache rash,” and this morning I’d counted five purple blooms of perfect fingerprints on both my hips.
“That doesn’t sound casual,” Maggie said, and I knew she was right.
Not when I tiptoed to his bedroom after Ruby fell asleep, and he lifted me onto his dresser, his hands spreading me open like he’d thought of nothing else all day.
And it definitely didn’t feel casual in the mornings when he’d return from dropping Ruby at school with a look in his eyes that made me question everything.
His phone would ring and ring, but he’d let it buzz against the nightstand until I was writhing beneath him.
When he finally answered, he did it so calmly, like his fingers weren’t still buried inside me and my face wasn’t pressed against my pillow to keep from making noises that would give us away.
“I’ll be there when I get there,” he’d growl, then toss his phone aside, his eyes never leaving mine as he lowered his mouth back to my skin.
Colt explored my body with the focused intensity of a man reclaiming territory he’d once lost, like the ranch could burn to the ground and he wouldn’t stop until I was unraveling and begging beneath him.
I told myself that keeping it casual was practical.
Tactical, even. The idea of all this meaning something, of me falling for Colt Calloway again, was dangerous.
So I nursed my delusion, ridiculous as it was, and tried to enjoy what I had while I had it, already counting down to the moment it slipped through my fingers.
I’d texted him earlier to let him know I wouldn’t be back to his house tonight and to tell Ruby we’d have a date in the morning. Then Maggie and I finished our third glass of wine, and her eyes gleamed as she snatched my phone.
“Show him what he’s missing.”
We’d gone to her bathroom, and I arched against the counter, the satin riding higher as I angled the camera down my body, and my pulse throbbed between my legs as I hit send.
His response lit up my screen almost instantly, four words that made heat flood my belly.
Colt: Fuck. Look at you.
I imagined his hands sliding up my legs, pushing the dress higher. I wanted to abandon Maggie right then and there, but her fingers closed over mine as I started typing a response.
“Make that man sweat it out a little. It’s good for them to yearn. It builds character.”
So, that’s what I was doing. I saddled up to the bar next to Maggie as she ordered us both a shot, and I was trying to pretend that his last messages weren’t enough to make me fold.
Colt: Where are you?
Colt: Tell me so I can come there and make a mess of you in that dress.
Colt: Fuck, Blaire. I’m so damn obsessed with you.
“Here we go.” Maggie set a shot down in front of me, with a lime wedge balanced on the rim.
I lifted it and clinked it against hers. “What are we toasting to?”
She leaned over, whispering in my ear, “To bringing the Calloway brothers to their knees.”
I laughed, but my fingers trembled around the shot glass.
I didn’t want to bring Colt to his knees.
Not really. Not in any way that would last beyond what he could do with his mouth.
We’d hurt each other before, and Ruby’s face flashed in my mind, her smile so much like his that my chest ached. I refused to hurt her.
Even if I knew I would end up hurt instead.
Every night I swore it would be the last; yet, every morning I woke reaching for him.
“He is awfully good there.” I smiled at Maggie, then we both brought the shots to our lips.
“To men on their knees!” She clinked her shot to mine again, and I tried to match her enthusiasm as I downed my own.
The tequila burned all the way down, and I was grateful for the way it helped chase away the nerves that had been building for the last week.
I sucked the lime, wincing at the shock of bitterness, but it faded into something sweet and far more dangerous as I thought about how every touch, every whispered word between Colt and me felt like unlocking a door to a home I could never return to.
I felt alive in the stolen moments, in the secret touches where we wrote promises on each other’s skin we had no right to make. But I knew with absolute certainty, I’d be left fighting for my life when it all came crashing down.
The thrum of the music and the press of bodies at the bar came into sharper focus, and I missed him. The urge to see him, to feel him, was a pulse beneath my skin, and I braced myself against the bar as Maggie ordered another round, her voice cutting through the music and clamor of conversation.
“Why is it so packed in here tonight?” I asked her as I looked around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place this busy.
“The fair starts tomorrow, and it always brings out all the riffraff.”
My phone buzzed against the wood of the bar, rattling my empty shot glass, and I reached for it.
Colt: Never mind. I found you.
I froze, the words blurring on the screen as my breath caught, and anticipation thrummed through me. My head spun with it all—the ache, the wanting, the careless way I couldn’t bring myself to care about the inevitable crash when I knew he was so close.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze, heart hammering as I scanned the bar.
The crowd blurred into nothing as my eyes locked with his from across the room.
A jolt of heat shot straight between my thighs and my nipples tightened painfully against the satin of my dress.
My body recognized him before my mind could catch up, already aching, already his.
Colt looked like sin in a pair of worn jeans and a black button-down rolled to expose forearms corded with muscle.
The top three buttons were undone, revealing a triangle of tanned skin and the base of his throat, which still bore marks I’d given him the night before.
His tan cowboy hat cast shadows across his face, but it did nothing to shield me from his stare.
People parted for him, and every woman in the bar stopped what they were doing and their eyes followed the broad set of his shoulders.
But he moved with singular focus until he stopped right in front of me.
He was close enough that the toes of his boots pressed against mine, and the smell of his cologne made my stomach flip.
He said nothing, just let his gaze drag down my body with such deliberate slowness that heat bloomed across my skin wherever his eyes lingered.
His jaw tightened, the muscle there flexing as he swallowed hard.
When his eyes finally returned to mine, dark and possessive, every person in that bar knew exactly who I belonged to.
“Hey, Strawberry.” His voice was rough, and my skin prickled with goosebumps that raced down my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I swallowed hard.
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke, the feel of his breath making my eyelids flutter closed.
The brim of his hat grazed my temple, and all I could focus on was his rough stubble against my cheek and the rasp of his voice.
“I dropped Ruby off at Mom’s the second you sent that picture.
She was excited for the impromptu sleepover, but she made me pinkie promise she’d see you at the fair tomorrow.
” His hand found my hip, fingers digging into the satin and cinching it higher.
“You really thought I could sit at home thinking about you in this?”
His hand drifted lower, the heel of his palm settling against the hem of my dress, and his fingers dug into the bare skin of my thigh.
I clutched at the bar for balance because every inch of my body wanted to lean into him, to let him press me to the sticky wood and start something that would get us both banned from The Dusty Spur for life.
“What?” I barely managed the word as his thumb hooked under the edge of the satin, tracing slow circles against the bare skin he found there, the motion so gentle it felt cruel.
“Wear whatever you want, Blaire.” His teeth nipped at my earlobe, hard enough to make me gasp, but it was nothing compared to the burn behind his next words, spoken so low and dirty that I felt them more than I heard them.
“But if you’re going to walk around in something like this, with every bastard in here wishing you were his, then I want my cum running down your thighs when you do so. ”
I fought to stay upright as I felt every drop of blood in my body rush south, the pulse between my legs so hot and immediate I swore he could see it.
His thumb stroked over my skin again, making me jump. “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.”