Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
MAVERICK
“This porch needs a swing,” I say, seated on the top step, a swirl of plum-and-rose-scented hair veiling my shoulders as we search the night sky. Mia sits in my lap, clinging to me like this is more than the moral support I keep trying to convince myself I’m giving.
My eyes scan the dusky horizon toward the compound for a moment. All it would take is one surprise visitor. One observant teammate scanning the perimeter, and I’m toast.
But Mia needs this, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t let her down twice.
“You look worried, Maverick,” she says softly, mint eyes dancing over my face.
“Not the most professional thing I’ve done in my life,” I grumble, and she giggles.
“Sorry for making you step over the line. But—” Her voice quivers, and I don’t regret any of this. “But I can’t remember the last time I felt this safe.”
I clear my throat, shifting uneasily. “Not even backstage … the night we met?”
“Not even. After all, I was still reeling from getting tackled by you. You’re no small man.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am. You make me sound old when you say that. Or like you’re trying to put distance between us.”
“That would be the smart thing to do,” I counter.
“But for me? You’ll make a sacrifice.”
“Just this once.”
“Thank you.” Her hand comes up, stroking my bearded cheek, and I freeze, knowing in every inch of my body how dangerous this is.
“Your beard is softer than I thought it would be. Downright silky.”
God, I love the feel of her fingers sliding through it, nails running lightly over my cheek. “Not every part of me’s rough,” I answer, not sure what else to say.
“You know everything about me now, Cowboy, but I know next to nothing about you.”
“Cowboy?” I arch a brow.
“Figure if you can call me princess, it’s only fair.”
“You have a point,” I concede on a one-way path to joblessness, “Princess.”
I stare up at the sky, trying to focus on the constellations. The line of Orion’s Belt that points to the Big Dipper, not the delicate fingers sending warm shivers up and down my spine.
“You still haven’t answered me,” she says after a long pause.
“Did you ask a question?”
“Not a question but a statement that deserves a response. Tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell,” I shrug, already turning inward, though it’s harder to do with this curvy woman wrapped in my arms.
“Tell me anyway.”
I let out a low growl, like a warning. But Mia knows better. She smiles at my bluster, the kind of smile that invites me to say more.
“Born and raised in Southern Idaho near the Oregon border. Half farmer, half wild. Stuck between two worlds.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, like she already understands somehow.
“One side of my family: pioneer farmers—calm, steady, tied to the land. The other Shoshone-Bannock: wild as the ponies we ride—nomadic souls and bodies. Not tied to the land, embodying its blood and bones. Rodeo riders and aimless cowboys. Men who don’t say much … or need to.”
Her grip on my neck tightens, like I’ll drift away, vanish into the night. Maybe a part of me wants to because this—this intimacy?—is too much. Like I’m parting with a piece of my soul. The look in her eyes tells me she knows how to hold it, though.
Maybe that scares me even more.
“Men who don’t settle down, I’m guessing?”
“That, too,” I say, looking away. Not because I fear disappointing her, but because I fear, like getting me to talk, she could make me do even more. Maybe things against my nature.
She chuckles, her eyes sparkling with starlight. “I understand better than you think.”
“How do you mean?” I ask gravely.
“I’m rootless, homeless, free as they come, and I hate it with a passion.”
I nod.
She cocks her head. “Wait, you don’t look like you believe me.”
“Not that, Princess. I just know people always want what they can’t have.”
“Like alpacas and wool shops?”
“Maybe, though you could have them … with a few sacrifices.”
“Yes, I could, couldn’t I?”
I don’t know if she’s asking me or the stars.
I swallow hard. “Something tells me you’re capable of getting whatever you want. But first, you have to feel your own power.”
She frowns, looking down at the porch, like she’s really thinking through my words. Then, her eyes snap to mine. “When I’m with you, I feel powerful.”
“That’s not me, Mia.”
“Then what is it?”
“You learning how to sit with silence.”
She curls her hand into my shirt, and it takes every ounce of resolve not to bend my head, taste her pretty pink mouth. But she trusts me, and I refuse to violate that, no matter the cost.
“So, which are you, then? The steady farmer or the nomadic wild man?”
I scrutinize the stars, trying not to feel her warm breath on my cheek or the way her words make my heart ache for impossible things. “Until you? I was the man who followed orders without thinking.” I say it like I don’t want to admit it, but everything about it’s the truth.
“So, I’m a bad influence, then?” She questions so softly I have to draw closer to make out the words.
“Not a bad influence. The catalyst I ignored to my detriment. Truth is, you can do everything right and still come out wrong.”
I exhale slowly, unable to avoid her gaze any further, feeling more heat crawl up my neck than a Texas night could ever deliver.
“Opposites again,” she murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. “Because I’m the girl who’s done everything wrong, hoping it’s somehow going to turn out right.”
Her words break something loose in my chest because I can tell, despite today’s work, she still believes she’s at fault for her life.
Before I can think, my hand comes up to stroke her feather-soft cheek. “You haven’t done right or wrong, Mia, because you were never given the choice. But we’re going to see what we can do about getting that back for you.”
I don’t move closer, don’t let my eyes hunger for her mouth. Hell, I don’t breathe.
This is the moment I lose plausible deniability. The moment there’s no version of this I can explain away.
Moonlight and stardust dance across her face, and her head comes up slowly. Awkward lips touching mine for one breathless moment.
Her mouth is warm and unsure, like she’s waiting to be told this is allowed.
Her first kiss, I’m pretty damn sure.
I don’t back away, don’t say half the things my mind is screaming … about jobs and professionalism, propriety and what’s right or wrong.
Instead, I let the magic exist—linger—as I return the kiss with a quiet need that could destroy everything I’ve rebuilt.