Chapter 9
Tex
I can still taste her. Still feel her as she came apart.
Snow clings to the cuffs of my jeans, and the cold has worked its way up to my boots, but none of it matters because Jane Cutter is standing in front of me like she’s been struck by lightning and I’m the storm that hit her.
Her lips are swollen, and her eyes are wide. Her breath stutters as if her body can’t decide whether to fight or lean in.
I shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Shouldn’t have stepped over her boundaries. I should’ve been the man with the schedule and the fences and the rules.
Instead, I broke.
And now she’s looking at me like the weight of what just happened between us is settling on her shoulders, and she doesn’t know what to do with the way her world has shifted.
I know that look. I’ve worn that look. It’s the face of someone who just found out the ground they were standing on isn’t as solid as they thought.
We stand there beside the fence line, horses snorting behind us, winter wind biting at our cheeks, and all I can think is: I want her in my cabin. In my bed. Under me. Mine.
I clamp down on the thought so hard my jaw aches.
“Jane.”
She blinks like she’s surfacing. “Tex.”
The way she says my call sign makes my blood run hot.
“You okay?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I… don’t know.”
I take a small step closer, careful not to crowd her. “Talk to me.”
Her eyes flick over my face as if she's trying to find the words in the lines of it. “What we just did—what I did—I wanted…”
She trails off, licking her lips as if she can still taste me too. “I kissed you, and you kissed me and… stuff. Like you meant it.”
I exhale slowly. “I did mean it.”
The wind whistles through the posts. The horses shift. The world keeps moving like it didn’t just change.
Jane’s hands curl into fists at her sides, then relax. Then curl again. Like she’s trying to hold on to control and losing.
I’ve seen that before, in men under fire, in buddies who couldn't decide whether to run or fight. The body processes faster than the brain. She needs time to catch up.
“I’ve never...” she starts, then stops, cheeks flushing hard.
My body reacts immediately. Heat hits me, low and sharp.
I force my voice steady. “Never what?”
She looks away, then back, defiant even while she’s trembling. “Never done anything like that.”
It hits me in the gut. Not because I don’t believe her. Because I do.
The pieces suddenly click. The noise and swagger, the jokes, the chaos. It’s not performance. It’s protection. She keeps people at arm’s length because getting close means getting hurt. Means being seen. Means someone finding out she’s not as invincible as she pretends.
And even though she made the first move, I just blew past every wall she had.
I lift my hands, palms up, visible. An offer, not a grab. “Can I take your hands?”
She looks at my hands like she’s checking for traps. Then she nods and slides her gloved fingers into mine.
I hold her gently, grounding, not trapping. “We should get you warmed up.”
Her breath catches at the contact. “We should... what?”
“Cabin,” I say. “Now.”
Jane opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, then closes it. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then to my hands holding hers.
She nods sharply. “Okay.”
I help her back onto her horse, then swing up onto mine, and we ride back in silence that isn’t silence at all. It’s charged, buzzing, and full of everything I’m trying not to do.
By the time we reach the cabin, I can barely breathe.
I dismount, tie the horses, and turn to help her down.
Jane lets me.
My hands land on her waist, and she makes a small sound that goes straight through me. I set her down slowly and carefully. The second her boots hit the ground, she’s there—too close. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks are flushed, her vanilla scent teasing my nostrils.
“Inside,” I say quietly.
She follows me without a word.
The door closes behind us with a soft click, and the warmth hits her immediately. Firelight flickers across her face, and quiet wraps around us, soothing our nervous energy.
Jane stands in the entryway, arms folded tight across her chest, staring at the floor as if she’s bracing for... something.
I automatically pull off my coat and hat and hang them up, falling back on routine and control; anything to keep my hands from grabbing her.
When I turn back, she’s watching me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says suddenly.
I pause. “With what?”
“With”—she gestures vaguely between us, cheeks going even redder—“this.”
I take a slow step closer. “You don’t have to do anything.”
Her eyes flash. “I want to.”
That stops me cold.
“I want...” She pauses, searching for the words. “I want to do the sex thing. With you.” Her voice drops like she’s confessing a crime.
For a heartbeat, my brain blanks. Then my body responds like a damn animal. Heat, hard and immediate, flows through me, along with possessiveness and want so sharp it hurts.
Jane lifts her chin, defiant even while she’s shaking. “That sounded stupid.”
“It didn’t,” I manage, but my voice is rough enough to scrape. “Jane...”
“I’m serious,” she says, stepping closer as if she’s determined to plant herself in my space. “I didn’t know…The... things you made me feel. I don’t know what to do with them. And I want—” Her breath stutters. “I want my first time to be with you.”
The words hit me like a punch. Not because I don’t want it. Because I do. God, I do.
But the weight of it, of her first time, her trust, her offering something she can’t take back, wraps tight around my ribs.
My hands lift automatically, stopping just short of touching her. Restraint by millimeters.
“Jane,” I say carefully, “look at me.”
She does.
Her eyes are too bright. Too hopeful. Too raw.
“I want you,” I tell her, honest and unvarnished. “More than I should. More than is smart.”
Her breath catches as if a part of her is relieved I said it out loud.
“But,” I continue, forcing myself to say the part that matters, “I’m not having sex with you tonight.”
Her expression flashes with something that’s not quite hurt. It’s sharper. It’s fear that this is rejection.
“What?” she whispers.
I shake my head immediately. “Not because I don’t want to. Because I do. Because I’m barely holdin’ on by my fingernails.”
Jane’s brows draw together. “Then why—”
“Because I need you to be sure,” I explain, my tone low and steady. “Not running on adrenaline. Not trying to prove you can handle it. Sure.”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
I take one small, careful step closer. “I’m not going anywhere, Jane. This isn’t a deadline. You don’t have to prove anything to keep me here.”
Her throat tightens. Her voice comes out small. “What if I change my mind?”
“Then you change your mind,” I say simply. “And that’s okay.”
Something in her expression cracks as if she didn’t expect that answer.
Jane’s chin trembles once before she locks it down. “I want you.”
“I know.”
“And you want me.”
“Yes.”
“Then”—she lifts her hands, frustrated, palms up—“why are you stopping?”
Because I want this to be something you choose, not something that happened to you.
Because you deserve better than a man who takes when you’re overwhelmed.
Because I’m not going to be another person in your life who didn’t wait for you to be ready.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I reach out slowly, palm hovering near her cheek like a question. “Can I touch you?”
She exhales a shaky breath. “You already did. Why are you asking now, after what happened out there? After we—”
“Because now,” I say quietly, “it matters even more.”
Her breath hitches as she looks up at me, confused.
“What we did out there was instinct. Heat. Want. And yeah, I wanted you. I still do.” I keep my voice steady, even though everything in me wants to pull her closer.
“I’m not saying no,” I continue. “I’m saying not all the way yet.”
Jane looks confused. “So… what then?”
I let my thumb trace her lower lip, slow. “We can do other things. Things that feel good. Things that let you explore. No pressure. No pain. No crossing lines you’re not ready for.”
Her lashes flutter as her eyes widen. “Like what?”
“Like me taking care of you like I did earlier,” I explain. “And you learnin’ how to take care of me. If you want.”
A pause.
Then her breath leaves her in a shaky exhale. “I want.”
The words are small but certain.
My control slips a fraction.
I lean in and kiss her, slowly, deliberately. She melts into it immediately, her hands gripping my shirt like she needs something solid to steady her.
I deepen the kiss gently, tasting her, letting her set the pace. She makes a soft sound in my mouth, and I nearly break my own rule.
I pull back with effort, forehead resting against hers. “Bedroom?”
She nods so quickly that I almost grin.
Taking her hand, I lead her down the hall, every step a test of my restraint. When we reach my room, I don’t rush her inside like a man starving. I stop at the threshold.
Jane turns to me, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”
The question isn’t really about me. It’s about her. About her fear of being rejected, of being too much, of wanting something she’s not supposed to have.
I answer with truth. “I’m sure I want you. I’m makin’ sure you’re sure.”
She nods. “I am.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I guide her inside and close the door softly behind us.