Chapter 16
Cash
I swear the sun’s never looked so damn golden as it does right now, dipping low behind the sponsor ranch and throwing streaks of light across the open field. The whole place feels like a postcard — white fences, dinner tables set under string lights, soft guitar music floating on the breeze.
Savannah’s standing beside me. Her hair blows wild in the wind—careless, beautiful.
I notice the pink on her cheeks from the long afternoon.
She’s stunning — everything I want to keep and hold precious.
Each time she laughs, it warms my heart because it means she’s dropped that whole mean girl boss vibe she’s been carrying around.
Seems like this fake relationship is helping, not hurting a damn thing.
Dinner’s being served by the ranch owners, the Harts. They’re good people, all hospitality and charm. When Mrs. Hart comes over with her warm smile, she says, “Y’all are welcome to stay the night. No sense driving after all that wine. We’ve got a guest room ready.”
Savannah starts to politely decline, but I cut in. “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am. We’d be honored.”
She shoots me a glare, but Mrs. Hart beams. “It’s settled then. You’ll have the upstairs suite. View of the pasture and a big ol’ king-size bed. Can’t beat that.”
I almost choke on my drink. Savannah’s fork stills midair.
Mrs. Hart doesn’t notice, bless her. She pats my arm and moves on. I glance at Savvy. She’s blinking at her wine glass like it might hold the will to live. “Relax,” I murmur. “We’ve survived one room before.”
“That room had two beds.”
I grin. “This one has a view.”
Dinner stretches long — laughter, small talk, another glass of wine.
Maybe two too many. Savannah’s trying to stay composed, but her guard’s slipping.
I can see it in the way she leans a little closer when she laughs, the way her fingers tap against the stem of her glass when I look at her too long.
By the time dessert’s over, the ranch glows with strings of light like a constellation come to earth.
We thank the Harts, and Mrs. Hart leads us upstairs. “Now, y’all just make yourselves comfortable. There’s a fire in the sitting room if you want it, and that big tub in the bathroom’s perfect for two. Towels are fresh and fluffy.”
I don’t dare look at Savannah after that 'perfect for two’ comment. I can already feel the heat rolling off her. When the door closes behind us, the silence is thick enough to taste. The mood changes as we check out our accommodations. A definite upgrade from motel on the road life.
The room is stunning with warm wood beams, a big stone fireplace, and a picture window looking out over the fields. The bed is massive, draped in cream linen and a quilt that looks handmade.
Savannah sets her purse on the dresser, jaw tight. “One bed.”
“Technically,” I say, tossing my hat onto the chair, “it’s big enough to count as two.”
She shoots me a look. “That’s not how math works, Dalton.”
I chuckle and walk to the window. The view’s even better from here — the pasture bathed in moonlight, a soft wind brushing the grass. Behind me, I hear her exhale, tired and definitely a little tipsy.
“Beautiful night,” I say. She doesn’t answer, but when I glance back, she’s at the foot of the bed, tracing the edge of the quilt with her fingers.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “It really is.”
I step closer. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she says firm and too fast. “Just … thinking.”
“About what?”
She looks up, meeting my eyes. “About how pretending is getting complicated.”
That one hits me square in the chest. I move another step closer, slow, giving her space still, but wanting this conversation.
“Maybe that’s because it’s not pretend anymore,” I say softly.
Her breath catches. “Cash …”
“Yeah?”
Her lips part like she’s going to say something, but instead she just shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “We shouldn’t.”
I smile. “Probably not.”
I’m mesmerized by the way the firelight dances in her eyes. Taking a few more steps toward her, I make sure they’re slow and deliberate. I stop a breath away. “Savvy …”
She holds her ground, chin up even though I can see the tremble in her hands. “You’re going to make me talk about this thing … these unspoken feelings, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Only if you want to.”
She studies my face. “You really want to hear it?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I really do.”
Savannah takes a shaky breath and I can see her fighting herself, every muscle in her body tense like she’s about to bolt.
“I’m scared as hell, Cash. I don’t do things like this. I don’t …” She stops, cheeks streaked pink, and tries again. “I don’t let people close, not anymore. Not since …”
Savannah shakes her head, eyes threatening to tear. “You’re not supposed to be the exception.”
She huffs a laugh, then blinks fast, like she’s just realized she let the words out. “God, I’m a mess.”
My voice feels thick with everything I locked inside myself since I first laid eyes on her. “Why can’t I be? I’ve never wanted to take care of someone this much in my life. That scares me more than the eight-second buzzer ever could.”
I touch her wrist, thumb brushing the bracelet. “You don’t have to keep up all those walls all the time, especially with me.” The words come out softer than I’ve ever said anything in my damn life. “You can even be a mess. I kinda’ like you that way.”
I mean it. I can’t even hide it. She looks up, meets my eyes, and it’s like all the bullshit between us, all the games melts out of the room. It’s just us, standing so close the air could catch fire. For once, I don’t reach for a joke or a line. I just reach for her.
Her lips are soft and uncertain at first, like she can’t quite believe it’s real. Then her hands slide up my shoulders, and when I pull her in there’s nothing in the world but the taste of her mouth and the warm, desperate thump of her heart against mine.
She kisses like she argues — all in, no half-measures, every ounce of control surrendered to the moment. Her hands find my jaw, my hair, then my arms, and it’s all I can do not to press her back against the soft edge of the bed and lose myself completely.
But I slow down, just enough, because this isn’t a bar or a parking lot. This is her, and it’s me, and we’re both not completely sober, yet wild for it.
She breaks the kiss first, laughing into my neck, breath warm and uneven. “We’re gonna regret this in the morning, you know.”
“No, we won’t,” I say, and I mean it. “Not for a second.”
She pulls back and gives me a look that’s equal parts mischief and dare. “If you’re going to be reckless, Dalton, at least do it right.”
I draw back just enough to see her eyes. “You sure?”
She nods once, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the side of the bed. The backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sits, tugging me down with her, and the move is so sudden and delicate at the same time that it knocks the wind out of me.
Her hands are everywhere at once — my shoulders, my waist, up under the edge of my shirt, warm and alive.
For the first time, she isn’t shy about it.
If anything, she’s greedy, nails digging into my back as she pulls me between her knees.
I can’t believe how much I want her, how much I want to lay her back on this quilt and see just how far she’ll let me go.
But I slow down. I kiss her jaw, her throat, pausing every few inches just to feel her pulse race under my mouth. She’s still trembling, and it’s not fear or nerves, it’s just all that pent-up want finally breaking loose.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, “and I will.” I mean it, but I hope to hell she doesn’t call my bluff.
Instead, she tips her head back, eyes half-shut and mouth parted in a way that makes me dizzy and hungry and grateful all at once.
“Let’s try out that huge bathtub,” she says, and her voice is raspy — sexier than I’ve ever heard it.
I don’t need to be asked twice. I slide my hands down her arms, feeling the shudder run through her, and press a kiss to her temple before standing up.
The master bath is at the far end of the suite, all marble and wood and a soaking tub big enough for an Oklahoma football team.
I turn on the faucet, twisting both handles until the water runs hot, and watch the steam curl up in humid ribbons. She picks up a bottle of bubble bath and pours some in.
My shirt’s gone in a blink. Savannah is perched against the edge of the sink counter, fingers white from how hard she’s gripping the marble. Her blouse is unbuttoned halfway, and when I reach her, I waste no time. I want her wild and wanting, not poised and polished.
Her hands yank me in by the belt loops, and the way our hips catch is a promise that neither of us is backing down. My mouth finds her collarbone, then further, and her shirt’s gone in a blur of fingers, leaving her in the softest, sexiest lace and skin.
She arches against me, hands running up my back, nails dragging little half-moons into my sides. She’s not shy with me, not even a little. It’s like she’s been waiting all her life to let go and I’m the only one she’ll allow to see the aftermath.
Her bra’s pale blue. Delicate, but not the color of someone who expects to be undressed.
I cup her through the lace and she goes still for a moment, looking up at me with eyes so wide and hungry I could drown in them.
I trace my thumb under the cup, slow and deliberate, trying to memorize the shiver that goes through her.
I slide behind her back and unclasp the bra, allowing her beauty to fall free.
My hands grasp her breasts, massaging and kneading.
I listen to her soft moans and map every inch of her skin, feeling her heart knock wild against her breastbone.
“Why are you still wearing this?” I tug the skirt, voice low and teasing. “Seems like you’re overdressed, Brooks.”
She huffs a breathless laugh, still playing tough, but her hands are fisted in my hair now, holding me as much as herself together. “You’re the one who likes a challenge.”
“That I do. And you’re one that keeps on giving.”
I hook my fingers into the waistband and tug, slow and careful, drawing it over her hips, slow as molasses.
She lifts them for me, eyes locked on mine, and I drag the skirt the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor.
Bare thighs. Blue lace. Skin that’s somehow softer and warmer than sunlight.
She’s perfect, and she’s mine, and the only thing that matters is the way she looks at me like I’m the only cowboy in the world.
I drop to my knees in front of her, because I want her to know exactly how much I want to discover her body, her mind, her soul.
I nuzzle her stomach, her hips, peppering little open-mouth kisses along the bare skin.
My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs moving in slow circles at the crease of her thighs.
She parts them for me, just a little, just enough.
A tremor rides up her leg and into my palms.
Sliding her panties down, I cup her mound and put gentle pressure there with my palm. She gasps, startled and her hands knot the back of my hair. “What about the water?” she asks.
I glance at the tub finding it not even half full of water. “It’ll keep, darlin’. You get to boss me around after the rodeo, sweetheart. But when I’m on the bull … or on you, I’m the boss.”