Chapter 14
“Watch the step.”
Seth pushed open the exterior door that led straight into his apartment, flipped on the light, and stepped aside so Shylo could go in first. He always used this entrance when he could.
It kept him out of the main part of the bunkhouse—and spared him the shit he’d catch about who he brought home.
Not that he brought many women there. He usually went to their place instead.
It was easier to leave when he wanted to.
The bulb flickered once, then steadied, casting a soft glow over the space.
The apartment wasn’t big, but it was more than most of the other hands had—a bedroom and bathroom tucked off to one side, a small living area with a worn couch, recliner, and scarred coffee table, and a compact kitchenette along one wall with a fridge, microwave, and sink.
A second door on the far wall led into the rest of the two-story bunkhouse—downstairs with its full kitchen, long dining table, and den with a TV, pool table, and poker table, and upstairs with bedrooms and bathrooms. This space, though, stayed his. Separate. Private.
He shut the door behind them, the solid click echoing through the apartment. The hum of the small fridge filled the space, and the air carried the faint scent of soap and leather.
“Not exactly five-star.” He dropped his keys on the counter, the sound sharp in the stillness, and moved toward the kitchenette, needing something to do with his hands. The fridge door opened with a soft, suctioned pull, and cool air caressed his forearms. “I’ve got ginger ale, beer, or water.”
“Um... I’ll take a beer if you’re having one.”
He grabbed two chilled bottles of Coors and shut the door. When he turned, she stood near the center of the room, taking it in. There wasn't a trace of judgment on her face. Only curiosity.
“It’s nice. Feels... comfortable.”
He nodded once, more to himself than anything, as he removed the bottle caps. “It does the job. Gives me privacy from the rest of the ranch hands when I want it.”
He crossed the short distance between them and handed her a bottle.
Their fingers brushed together—barely—but it sparked something that burrowed beneath his skin.
He guzzled some of his beer, but the cold liquid did nothing to cool the desire simmering inside him.
When he lowered the bottle, his gaze drifted back to her.
He searched for any sign she was nervous about being there but didn't find one. Instead, she met his gaze with a smile that made his pulse kick up another notch.
Whatever had been simmering between them all afternoon refused to be ignored.
Dust still clung to the hem of her jeans from the trail, a small reminder that she'd spent the afternoon beside him.
He set his beer on the counter, stepped into her space, and stared down at her.
“I've been thinking about that kiss all evening.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks, and she licked her lips as though savoring the memory. “Me too.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Slowly, he leaned in, and she met him halfway. Her lips brushed his in a tentative touch that lasted only a heartbeat before she kissed him again with more certainty. He answered immediately, one hand settling at her waist while the other cupped the side of her neck.
The kiss grew naturally from there. Their mouths moved together with growing confidence until she parted her lips for him. He accepted the invitation with a slow stroke of his tongue, and she welcomed him with one of her own.
With every passing second, the rest of the world faded until all that mattered was the woman in his arms.
When they finally eased apart, they were both breathing harder.
His thumb drifted across her cheek as a sigh escaped her.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, needing to know he wasn’t pushing her too fast.
She didn't ask what this was—she didn't have to. He could see the same desire reflected in her expression. But he needed to hear that she wanted it too.
She didn't step back or hesitate before setting her bottle on the counter beside his, never taking her gaze off him. “If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here.”
That should've made it simple.
It didn't.
What was it about this woman that made him hesitate? Usually, he was all in—taking what they both wanted with no complications, and hopefully, no awkward morning afters.
But something about Shylo made him want to slow down. Take his time. Make it about more than just another kiss and another night.
When she tipped her head back without a hint of reservation, he kissed her again.
His hand cupped her jaw while the other drew her closer until her body rested against his.
He explored her mouth with a patience he'd never offered another woman, savoring every kiss she returned and every sound she made.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, and his cock hardened in response—his tight jeans making it uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. He angled his head, deepening the kiss.
His hand at her waist shifted, his fingers spreading over the curve of her ass through the fabric. He pulled her flush against him, letting himself get lost in the feel of her, the quiet catch of her breath, and the way she fit against him as if she belonged there.
The thought startled him, but he was too caught up in her taste, her touch, and the soft sounds she made to follow it any further.
The kiss took on a life of its own—consuming them as if they had no choice. Her lips moved with his in a rhythm that felt anything but new. His other hand slid up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine before settling at the base of her neck and holding her there.
Her hands weren’t idle either. They caressed his body from chest to shoulders, then up into his hair, fingers threading through it, tightening enough to pull a low, rough growl from him. He felt it everywhere—sharp, erotic, and impossible to ignore.
He altered his stance, guiding her back a few steps without breaking the kiss, until her back hit the wall.
Every reaction she gave him—every small breath, every shift closer—pulled him in deeper.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like he was losing sight of where it stayed simple and where it became something more.
But that didn’t stop him.
Her mouth left his for a second, her lips skimming along his jaw and cheek, her breath warm against his skin.
“Bedroom?” she asked, pulling away to look up at him. The word came out breathless, and it hit him like a trigger.
His hand slid into hers, fingers closing around it as he turned and led her toward his bedroom. The door stood half open, and he pushed it wider without breaking contact, letting her go in first before following her inside.
The air felt different in there. More intimate.
And what little resistance he’d been holding onto out in the other room was gone.