CHAPTER THREE #2
“Looks good.” He pushed his hat back and grinned down at me.
For the first time, I saw the faint threads of silver at his temples.
I knew he was older than me. I could tell by the lines around his eyes.
The way he carried himself. And for some reason, the thought only made my awareness of him skyrocket.
I moved, knowing I had to get away from him before I did something I’d regret. Or not regret.
Damn, I was so confused.
I turned, walking back to the horses and tripped, dropping the tools to the ground.
Before I could fall to the ground and make a complete idiot of myself, Rhett caught me, one arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. For a second, we just stood there, my back pressed to his front, his arm solid and strong around my middle.
I could feel every inch of where we touched.
Could feel how broad his chest was, how much bigger he was than me, how his hand had automatically spread wide across my stomach.
And I could feel, with absolutely mortifying clarity, exactly where my body was soft, where I had extra curves that pressed against him.
“Careful,” he murmured, his mouth close to my ear. “Ground’s uneven here.”
“I noticed.” My voice came out breathless, and I tried to step away, but his arm tightened slightly.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, I just—” I needed him to let go before I died of embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t let go. Instead, his hand flexed against my stomach, fingers pressing in just slightly, and I heard him make a low sound in his chest that might have been approval or satisfaction or something else entirely.
“Rhett—”
“I meant what I said earlier.” His voice was low, vibrating through me. “About liking the way you feel. In case you were still wondering.”
I wasn’t wondering. I was dying. My whole body was on fire, and I couldn’t think straight with him touching me like this, with his arm around me and his chest pressed to my back and his breath warm against my ear.
“You don’t have to keep saying that,” I managed.
“Why not? It’s true.” His hand slid slightly lower, his thumb stroking along the curve of my hip through the denim. “You feel good, Maggie. Soft and warm and exactly how a woman should feel.”
“I’m not—” I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. That I wasn’t what he usually went for? That I wasn’t the kind of woman men like him wanted? That I’d spent my whole life being told I was too much, too big, taking up too much space?
“You’re not what?” he prompted, and there was an edge in his voice now. Almost challenging.
“I’m not... small. Or skinny. Or—”
“Thank fuck for that.” He turned me in his arms, keeping me close, one hand still on my waist while the other came up to tilt my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You think I want some skinny little thing I’d be afraid to touch? Some woman who’d break if I wasn’t careful?”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
“I want a real woman, Maggie. I want someone I can hold onto, someone with curves I can grip when I—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “I’m not a gentle man. Never have been. I like things a certain way, and I don’t apologize for it. So when I tell you I like your body, I mean every damn word.”
“I don’t... I’ve never...” God, why couldn’t I form complete sentences around him?
His expression softened slightly, and his thumb brushed across my cheek. “You’ve never what?”
“Had anyone say that before,” I admitted quietly. “Look at me the way you do. Like I’m—” I couldn’t finish. Like I was something worth wanting. Like I was desirable. Like my curves were an asset instead of something to overlook.
“Then every man you’ve known before me was a damn fool.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And if they made you feel like you were anything less than gorgeous, they didn’t deserve to touch you in the first place.”
My throat went tight. I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let myself think that maybe, possibly, he actually meant what he was saying. But a lifetime of feeling too big, too much, too different—that didn’t just disappear because one hot cowboy said nice things.
“You don’t know me,” I said, trying to hold onto some shred of self-protection. “You met me two days ago. You can’t—”
“I know enough.” His hand slid from my waist to my hip, then around to the small of my back, pulling me closer.
“I know you’ve got fire. I know you don’t back down even when you’re scared.
I know you feel perfect pressed up against me like this.
And I know I want to kiss you so damn bad right now that it’s taking everything I’ve got not to. ”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, and the heat in his gaze made me dizzy. “I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday. Since the second I saw you standing there with that attitude and those curves and that smart mouth just begging to be kissed quiet.”
“I don’t—” But I couldn’t finish the protest, because it would be a lie. I wanted him to kiss me. Wanted it so much I was shaking with it.
“Tell me no,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll back off. But if you don’t say it in the next three seconds, I’m going to take that as a yes.”
I should have said no. Should have told him this was crazy, that we barely knew each other, that this was moving too fast. But I couldn’t make the word come out. Could only stare up at him, my whole body humming with anticipation and need and something I’d never felt before.
Three seconds passed.
“Yeah,” he murmured, satisfaction dark in his voice. “That’s what I thought.”
Then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was exactly as I’d imagined. And, yes, I had imagined kissing this man, this cowboy. Yesterday, this morning. Heck, half of the afternoon.
There was heat and demand and Rhett’s hand fisting in my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper, harder, taking my mouth like he had every right to it.
I made a sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and his other arm tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I could feel every hard plane of his body against my softness, could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against my stomach, and it should have scared me but instead it made me feel powerful. Wanted. Like I’d done this to him.
His tongue swept along my bottom lip, demanding entry, and I opened for him without thinking.
The kiss went deeper, filthier, and I was drowning in him.
In the taste of coffee and something uniquely him, in the scratch of his stubble against my skin, in the way his hand in my hair made my panties flood with my arousal.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I settled for gripping his jacket, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world. He made a low sound of approval and kissed me harder, like my uncertainty was something he found appealing, something he wanted to corrupt.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His hand was still in my hair, and he was looking at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You kiss like a virgin, Maggie.”
I flushed, embarrassment flooding through me. Did he know? Did I need to tell him? “I don’t—I haven’t—”
“Hey.” His hand gentled in my hair, thumb stroking behind my ear. “That wasn’t a complaint. That was me trying not to lose my damn mind because you’re so responsive it’s making me hard as hell.”
Oh God. I could feel myself turning even redder, but I couldn’t look away from him.
“You’ve never done this before,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “Have you?”
I shook my head mutely.
Something fierce and possessive flashed across his face. “Good.”
“Good?” My voice came out squeaky.
“Yeah. Good.” He kissed me again, softer this time but no less thorough. “Means I get to be the one who shows you. Teaches you. Makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
“That’s—you can’t just—” But my protest died when his mouth moved to my jaw, trailing hot kisses down to the sensitive spot below my ear.
“Can’t what?” he murmured against my skin. “Can’t kiss you? Can’t touch you? Can’t tell you exactly what I want to do to you?”
“All of that,” I managed, but it came out more like a whimper.
He laughed, low and dark. “Too late. Already doing it.”
His mouth found mine again, and this time I was ready for it. Kissed him back with everything I had, inexperienced and clumsy but enthusiastic, and he groaned like I’d done something incredible instead of just trying not to embarrass myself.
When we finally broke apart, I was trembling, my lips swollen, my body aching with want I didn’t fully understand but knew instinctively that he could satisfy.
“We should finish the fence,” I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Yeah. We should. But not today.” But he didn’t let go of me, and his eyes were still dark with heat. “Tomorrow morning. Same time. We’ll cover more of the property.”
“Okay.”
“And Maggie?” He waited until I met his eyes. “That kiss? That’s just the beginning. I’m going to have you, sweetheart. All of you. It’s only a matter of time.”
It should have sounded arrogant. Should have made me mad. Instead, all I could think was, promises, promises.
And God help me, I wanted him to keep every single one.