Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
IZZY
The moment Dylan’s lips touch mine, the world disappears and it’s only us.
This moment. This kiss. It’s slow, and filled with a quiet intensity that makes my heart hammer in my chest so loud I swear Dylan is going to pull back and check I’m OK.
But he just keeps kissing me. It’s no frantic collision like the moment in the bar, but I’m still completely undone, my body on fire with the want pooling in my core and between my legs.
Every nerve ending feels charged. I’m desperate for his hands to roam over my body, down into the borrowed shorts that are barely staying up.
My nipples pebble against the fabric of his plain white tee, willing his mouth to drop down to them.
But his hands don’t move from where they cup my face and his lips stay on mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair as his beard rasps against my skin and our kiss deepens.
I lose myself. Lose all sense of time as my tongue meets his with every stroke.
When he finally pulls back, I’m gasping for breath and trembling for more. He stays close, brow furrowing like he’s warring with himself.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
He smiles, shaking his head at me. “Get some sleep, Brooks.” His thumb brushes over my cheek a final time, lingering there for a second more before he turns and disappears into the hallway.
I heave out a breath, aware of how my head is spinning and my knees are weak.
“Get some sleep?” I murmur to myself.
Not a chance.
The sun streaking in through the window is the first sign something’s wrong. I sit up in bed with a jolt. Instantly I know I’ve overslept.
I never oversleep. Ever. I’m always up with the sun, my body so in tune with the rhythm of the ranch that I haven’t needed an alarm clock in years.
Horses don’t sleep in. So I don’t sleep in.
Except today, apparently. And it’s all Dylan’s fault.
He’s the reason I was lying awake until almost dawn, my body tingling, my mind replaying that kiss over and over.
I sit up, blinking the sleep from my eyes. Chase’s room really is something. Stormhawks flags and trophies, a framed college jersey. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and head downstairs, still wearing Dylan’s oversized tee and shorts.
The kitchen is empty, but there’s a fresh pot of coffee on the counter, and beside it, a note:
Day off, Brooks!
Next to the note are the keys to his truck.
A day off? Yeah, right.
I take a cup of coffee with me to my trailer, shower quickly, and throw on my cutoffs and a tank top. I braid my hair, throw on my boots, and ten minutes later I’m striding into the barn to find Dylan, his arm muscles flexed as he hoists a feed bucket onto a shelf.
“You could’ve woken me,” I blurt.
He doesn’t even turn around. “Good morning to you, too.”
I stalk closer, hands on my hips. The air in the barn is muggy, heavy with the scent of hay and horses. “Seriously, you should’ve…”
He turns, a small smile touching his lips. He brushes down his jeans, pulls off his work gloves and moves toward me. Every step makes my heart thump a little harder. “Feeding’s done. Horses are all checked.”
My back hits the wood of the stall as he stops in front of me, his gaze dropping to my cutoffs, lingering for a moment too long before he’s shaking his head, dragging his eyes back up to my face. The heat in that look makes my cheeks flush.
Dylan closes the gap between us, standing so close I can smell that leather and wood and all-man smell that makes my heart stutter like it’s forgotten how to beat.
He scoops a strand of my hair away from my face. “You’re taking a day off, remember?” he murmurs, voice low.
Then he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is the same fiery want of last night. His body presses against mine as my hands slide up his chest, around his neck, and to the back of his hair. He groans into my mouth, and I swear the sound vibrates in every corner of my body.
My back scrapes against the stall as he pushes me back, my body melting into him.
Fuck, I want him so bad it hurts—an ache that coils low in my belly and makes my skin feel too tight.
I could lose myself in this moment, but whatever this is between us, it’s more than me wanting to rip Dylan’s clothes off.
And we still haven’t talked about what comes next. For him, the ranch, and for me.
I tear my mouth from his, panting, heart racing. “What are you doing, Dylan?”
He blinks, eyes dark with need. “I thought I was kissing you.”
It’s not what I meant, but I can’t find the words to ask again. “This is my last weekend,” I whisper. “My six weeks are up next Friday.”
Ask me to stay!
I watch his jaw tighten like he’s holding something back. I just wish I knew what it was. Then he lets out a long breath that sounds a lot like regret. “I know,” he says quietly.
He takes a slow step back, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve got the water to fill. I left you the keys to my truck for a reason. Take the day off, Iz. Get ready for Mad coming later.”
He turns and walks out of the barn, leaving my body aching and my thoughts spiraling. I make a step to move when a sharp sting flares across my back. I twist, fingers reaching awkwardly for the source, and hiss as they graze a fresh wood splinter—right between my shoulder blades.
Only I could derail the hottest kiss of my life and the closest thing I’ve had to sex in more years than I care to think about to talk about our future, and end up with a damn splinter in my back.
I curse under my breath before storming out of the barn.
I swap my work boots for sneakers and head to the kitchen for the keys to Dylan’s truck.
I need a break from this place and from him.
I head into the city, grab a few supplies and two coffees, then pull into the lot at The Hay Barn. I want to see Flic and I need help getting this splinter out of my back. Besides, I’m not ready to go back to the ranch yet. Not when I can still taste Dylan on my lips.