4. Beau
four
Beau
(Then)
My first night off happens a week into the new job, and when some of the other stable hands mention they’re heading into town for drinks, I join them—but not for the company.
There’s only one reason I change into my best jeans and a button-down shirt, and that reason is a pretty blonde who’s been making me work for it all week.
We walk into the bar after dark, when the music is already blaring and the booze is well and truly flowing.
I’ve traveled the world these past ten years and been in too many bars to count, but there’s something common to all of them.
The decor might be different, same goes for the food and the music and the beer, but the mood is usually the same.
A bunch of blue-collar workers blowing off steam with greasy food, hard drinks, and fast hands. And that’s the vibe tonight.
The people I’m with move farther inside, but I’m rooted in the doorway because I’ve already spotted her, my gaze like the needle on a compass swinging to its north star.
She’s the brightest spot on the crowded dance floor, carefree and exuberant, with butterscotch waves wild around her face, the last two inches dyed a vivid lilac.
My heart beats faster, the same as it’s done every time I’ve set eyes on her this week.
She’s dancing with casual closeness against a guy I don’t recognize.
Her energy makes me smile, and as her hips swing with unreserved joy and the guy’s hands circle her waist, her eyes find mine.
She keeps smiling, keeps dancing, does nothing to acknowledge my arrival until she shifts closer to the man tilting his pelvis at her and tosses me a challenging stare.
I carve a path right to her.
Her back is to me by the time I reach her, her suitor gyrating on the other side. I move into the space behind her, then slide a hand around to her stomach and drop my head beside hers.
“You done playin’ with me, Darlin’? Or are you going to make me wait another night?”
Daisy turns her head. Her eyes are a spellbinding medley of browns and greens and golds, and her right eyebrow quirks with gentle amusement.
She spins slowly to face me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her full pink lips tip up at the corners, and I shoot a warning glance at the guy still rocking his mating dance in her direction. He hesitates, then backs off with a defeated shrug.
Satisfied, I sweep my eyes down Daisy’s curves before I fall back into those pretty eyes. “You’re torturing me, but I suspect you already know that.”
This seems to please her. Her smile is slow and satisfied, and as the press of dancers pushes against us, I settle my hands on her hips and pull her closer.
“You’ve been doing it all week,” I add, leaning in so she can hear me.
She slides one hand up my chest, her palm and fingertips slipping with slow fascination over cotton and muscle, until she finds the back of my neck. I close my eyes to gather myself, the first contact of her skin against mine making me shiver.
“Doing what?” she coos.
I mirror her slow smile. “Making me work for something I think we both want.”
I coast my hands higher, thumbs brushing the bare skin of her waist where her shirt rides up. She sucks in a breath, eyelashes fluttering, and her body tenses.
“Maybe I’m still thinking about what I want,” she says, but she edges closer as she says it, then matches the sway of my hips with her own.
I slip my fingers into her hair, tangling the threads around them to expose her ear, where I drop my mouth to murmur, “Or maybe you want to see me beg.”
Her eyes widen as I pull back, my mouth hovering above hers.
“I’ll do it if that’s what it takes,” I tell her. “If that’s the only way to get my mouth on you.”
Her throat bobs. “Do it,” she whispers. “Beg.”
I smirk and dig my fingers into her hip. “Please, Darlin’. Please let me make you feel good.”
Now it’s desire that lights her eyes, and after a beat that feels like an eternity, she takes off my cowboy hat and puts it on her head. We both know what that means, and my mouth tips up in a triumphant smile. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.
I brush my lips against hers, and her eyelids float closed. It makes my blood pound louder than the music, so I do it again. Featherlight and curious.
Daisy’s fingers twist hard into my hair, and it’s all the encouragement I need.
I kiss her, deeply and intently. I taste her—warmth, salt, tequila—and she responds, her mouth opening to my long, slow explorations. The people and the music around us fade away.
The pressure of her hand on my neck increases, a grip that says she won’t let go, and she clutches at my shirt with the other.
Our tongues tangle. Her pulse races where my fingers curl around her neck, and my blood grows hot and thick.
She kisses me like she’s the one who’s been dreaming about it all this time, and when she whimpers against my mouth, I nearly lose it.
My first kiss with Daisy is the best kiss of my fucking life.
Dragging my lips off hers is the hardest thing I’ll ever do, but it’s worth it when I see my wonder mirrored in her face. The tension between us pulls tighter, looping into knots I didn’t expect.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask.
She nods, skin flushed and pupils dilated. “Yes.”
I take her hand, and she laces her fingers through mine like they’ve been there a thousand times before.
We don’t say a word as I lead her through the crowd toward the door or when we reach my truck.
I open her door, and she watches me in silence as I round the hood and slip behind the wheel, but when I’m settled, I find her hand again and don’t let go.
My heart races, and I’m too afraid to look away from the road in case it breaks whatever magic brought us here, but when I pull up at my lodgings on the ranch and cut the engine, Daisy’s still studying me.
The sight of her wearing my hat pushes me right to the edge, but it’s those eyes that undo me.
I reach across the console, take her face in my hand, and pull her mouth to mine.
The next morning, I tell myself it was just one night, just one girl, but it’s not true. That night, and that girl, change my life forever.