Chapter Thirteen
She’s gone, and I have to force myself not to follow her.
One minute, Charli was sitting across from me—cheeks flushed, eyes so dark that I could barely tell where the blue ended and the black began—and the next, she was muttering something about the bathroom and slipping away into the crowd.
It shouldn’t bother me.
But it does.
Because I know damn well she didn’t run off because she needed to pee.
She ran because of me.
Because of the teasing.
Because of the tension building between us.
My pulse is still going wild from it—from the sound of her breath catching. I haven’t been this affected by a woman in a long time.
The band’s still playing, and people are still laughing, clinking bottles, shouting to be heard. But I barely register any of it. I’m sitting here, staring at the empty stool across from me, her half-drunk cocktail sweating on the table, wishing she hadn’t bolted.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, try to shake it off. This is ridiculous. I came here tonight to unwind, to meet the locals, not to get twisted up over the stubborn-as-hell woman who’d been bossing me around like a schoolboy the last couple of weeks.
But then I remember the way she held my gaze as she danced for me—that flash of something she tried to hide—and it hits me in the gut.
Yeah, I’m in trouble.
“Hey there, cowboy.”
The voice is syrupy sweet, and when I look up, it’s the girl from the bar earlier. The one who was on the arm of one of my circuit buddies not that long ago. I didn’t even get her name.
She’s smiling down at me now, confidence all over her face, one hand resting on the back of the seat Charli vacated. “You look lost, sitting here all alone,” she says, cocking her head toward the door. “My girlfriends and I are about to head out. You should come have a nightcap with us.”
Her tone leaves no doubt about what kind of invitation that is. Usually, I’d take her up on it. I like women. Especially the hot, willing ones. I’ve spent my fair share of nights indulging my primal urges. But the thought doesn’t appeal to me tonight.
I force a polite smile. “Appreciate the offer. But I’m good right here.”
Her smile falters a bit. “You sure? Could be fun.”
“Pretty sure.”
She studies me for a second longer, maybe waiting for me to change my mind. When I don’t, she shrugs. “Your loss, bull rider.”
She winks and saunters off, her heels clicking against the old wood floor.
I let out a breath and lean back in my chair. Maybe I should have left with them. It would be a better decision than the one I’m about to make.
My eyes drift toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms, and I find myself standing before I even think about it.
Shit.
I tell myself I just want to make sure she’s okay. That’s all. That maybe I pushed things a bit far with the flirting. Maybe I owe her an apology.
But deep down, I know that’s a lie.
The hallway’s dim, lined with old posters for past rodeos and country music shows. The noise from the main room fades the farther I go, replaced by the low hum of neon signs.
Charli steps out of the women’s room just as I make it to the door, head down, hands smoothing her hair. When she looks up and sees me standing there, she freezes.
“Bryce,” she says, her voice low. “What are you doing—”
I don’t let her finish.
Something in me snaps—maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the dance, maybe it’s just her—and before I can stop myself, I reach for her hand and tug her down the hall, away from the light spilling from the billiards area.
She lets out a startled breath, but doesn’t pull away.
We stop in a shadowy corner, where the noise from the bar barely reaches, and I turn to face her.
“What the hell are you—”
Her words cut off when I step in, one hand braced against the wall beside her head.
Her eyes flick up to mine, wide and fierce, and for a second, neither of us moves. The air between us is thick with something that makes it hard to think—charged and impulsive.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
But the word doesn’t match the way she’s looking at me.
And, God help me, I can’t stop.
I lower my head, slow enough that she could turn away if she wanted to. She doesn’t. Her breath hitches, her fingers curl into my chest … and then our mouths meet.
The kiss hits like a spark to dry grass—instant, consuming.
She tastes like tequila. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I press her back against the wall, my pulse pounding in my ears.
She makes a sound—half surprise, half surrender—and I swear it goes straight to my cock.
Everything else fades.
The bar. The crowd. The music. The voices.
There’s just her.
Just Charli.
Every reason I shouldn’t be doing this—the ranch, the training, the fact that she clearly can’t stand me most days—goes flying straight out of my head.
Because right now, none of that matters.
All that matters is the feel of her, the way her body fits against me.
Her hands slide up, her fingers brushing my neck, and I can feel her heart pounding against mine. My breath comes rough, and my thoughts scramble.
“Bryce,” she murmurs against my mouth, “this is—”
“Ry. Call me Ry,” I demand.
We’re both breathing hard now, caught somewhere between sense and instinct.
“This is a bad idea,” she continues.
“Sure is,” I agree, then slam my mouth back against hers.
All the resistance slides away. Both mine and hers as we battle for control of the kiss—all wrestling tongues and biting lips.
My hands go to her waist, and her legs wrap around me as I hoist her off the ground until our hips are perfectly aligned.
I can feel her heat as I press into her.
My cock grows very impatient as she begins to move against me.
I slide a hand under the hem of her dress and caress the smooth skin of her thigh. Moving it higher as she moans her encouragement against my mouth.
My hand brushes the edge of silky fabric, and her head falls against the wood at her back.
“Look at me,” I demand, and her eyes come to mine. The desire I find there matches mine as I feed a finger under the fabric. “You’re fucking soaked.”
“I don’t need your commentary, cowboy.”
“What do you need, darlin’?”
The moan she releases as I stroke her gently is all the answer I get. And all the answer I need. I pepper kisses down her throat as I find her entrance and dip the tip of my finger inside.
She gasps and tugs at my hair as she struggles to get closer.
And then …
A throat clears.
Loud. Deliberate.
My head jolts up, and we both turn toward the sound.
A guy stands a few feet away, grin stretched wide across his face. He’s holding a beer, looking way too entertained for my liking.
“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he says, jerking a thumb toward the door we’re up against. “But, uh …”
I glance over her head to read the sign on the door I have her pinned against.
Sure enough …
MEN. Big, bold letters right there, behind Charli’s head.
“Fuck me,” I mutter as her legs fall from my waist. I take a step back, and she struggles to tug her dress down, her face flushed a deep shade of red.
“I, uh … we’re … sorry,” she stammers, brushing past me quickly before I can say a word.
“Don’t worry about it,” the guy calls after her, chuckling. “Happens all the time.”
I shoot him a look that wipes the grin clean off his damn face, then turn and follow after her. But she’s fast. By the time I make it to the end of the hallway, she’s already been swallowed by the crowd.
Dammit.
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to get my breathing under control. My lips still tingle, my chest feels like I just came off an eight-second ride, and every part of me is still buzzing from what just happened.
I detour to the door behind the bar and step outside, into the cooler night air, hoping it’ll help get my body back under control.
It doesn’t.
The deck is half full of drunken couples and strangers wrapped up in each other, music spilling through the cracked-open door. I can still see her in my mind—that wild flash in her eyes right before I kissed her, the way she melted for a heartbeat before snapping back like a live wire.
I didn’t imagine that.
That wasn’t one-sided.
I lean against the railing, exhaling hard.
This is going to be a problem.
Because whatever’s happening between me and Charli Storm, it’s not supposed to. I came here to get my head straight, to work with her, to do the training. Not to start something that could—and probably will—blow up in my face.
But the truth is, right now, I don’t really fucking care about the consequences.
Not one bit.
Because I’m gonna kiss her again. And no amount of logic’s gonna change that fact.
The door swings open behind me, laughter spilling out again. I half expect to see her storming out, ready to tell me off and kick me in the balls, ready to put me in my place, like she has since day one.
But she doesn’t come.
She’s probably inside with her sisters, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending like that kiss didn’t just light her up from the inside out, like it did me.
I glance up at the stars, the Wyoming night stretching wide and endless overhead, and I can’t help the rough laugh that escapes me.
“Well, this night sure took a messy turn,” I mutter.
And somewhere deep down, I know it’s only the start of a much bigger mess.
The door opens again, and this time, it’s Cabe. He spots me instantly.
“There you are,” he says, walking over with a lopsided grin. “The girls are looking for Charli. You wouldn’t know where she disappeared to, would you?”
I try for innocent. “Me? Nope. Why would I?”
He narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Uh, because we left you at the table together.”
“Last I saw her, she was headed to the restroom.”
“Well, I’m gonna go find her and try to wrangle all of ’em to the truck. You ready?”
I nod. “Be there in a minute.”
He goes back inside, and I stay put for a moment longer, listening to the muffled music and the low hum of voices inside.
I should go try to talk to her. Apologize and explain that it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing.
That it won’t happen again. But she’d probably bite my head off, and right now, I’m not sure I’d blame her.
Because it wasn’t.
And it will.