Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
LEVI
The storm hits just after dark.
I hear it before I see it—the low roll of thunder out past the ridge, the wind picking up hard enough to rattle the barn doors in their tracks.
By the time I step outside, the sky’s gone mean.
Heavy clouds. Sharp air. That strange stillness right before everything breaks.
I glance toward the guest house and cabins, thinking of Dakota before I can stop myself.
That alone puts me in a worse mood.
The horses feel it too. A few of them are already restless in their stalls, stomping and shifting, ears twitching at every crack of sound in the distance.
Storms do that. Bring nerves to the surface. Make everything raw.
I move down the aisle, checking latches, running a hand over warm necks, speaking low where I need to. Routine helps. So does work. It keeps my head clear.
Or it usually does.
The barn door opens behind me with a rush of wind and rain.
I turn, already irritated.
Then I see her.
Dakota stands in the doorway, soaked through in under a second, hair damp around her face, breath quick from the run across the yard.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.
She pushes the door shut behind her and leans against it for a second. “I saw the weather. Thought you might need help.”
I stare at her. Rainwater slides from the ends of her hair onto her shoulders. Her shirt clings in ways I do not need to notice.
“You ran through a storm for this?”
“For you,” she says, like it’s obvious.
That lands somewhere deep and unwelcome. I look away first.
“The horses are worked up,” I say. “Stay out of the aisle if they start kicking.”
She nods once, going quiet. She doesn’t even smile, serious now, like this work matters.
That should make this easier. It doesn’t.
Thunder cracks overhead, loud enough to shake dust loose from the beams. A mare two stalls down lets out a sharp, anxious whinny and bangs against the wood.
Dakota flinches.
I’m across the space between us before I think about it.
“It’s alright,” I say, one hand settling at her elbow. “That one startles easy. Rescued from the auction block six months ago. Tough past.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Too close. “Tough past, huh?”
I nod before I can stop myself. My hand tightens, savoring her warmth. “Take that bucket,” I say, stepping back. “Fresh water first. Slow movements. Don’t rush anything.”
She grabs the bucket and moves where I point her, steady even with the thunder still rolling. She learns like she listens… with her whole attention.
I hate how much I like that.
For a while, we work in rhythm.
Water. Hay. Quiet voices. Boots in straw. Lightning flashing white through the cracks in the walls.
The storm builds around us, but inside the barn it narrows into something smaller. Warmer. More dangerous.
At the far end, Buddy throws his head hard against the stall and snorts, panic rising fast. “I’ve got him,” I say.
Dakota’s already there. The horse rears halfway, hooves striking wood.
“Easy,” she murmurs, keeping her voice low. “Easy, baby. Nobody’s asking for more than you can give.”
The words catch me off guard. The tone even more.
I step in beside her, one hand on the halter, the other braced against the stall frame while the horse dances sideways.
“He’s cornering himself,” I mutter.
Dakota doesn’t look away from the animal. “Then we make the space feel bigger.”
I glance at her. If only it were that easy.
Rain taps against the roof in a harder rhythm now, fast and relentless. Thunder follows a second later.
The horse jerks again.
Dakota lifts her hand slowly, letting him scent her knuckles before she touches his neck.
“Good,” she whispers. “That’s it. Nobody’s leaving you.”
The gelding shudders. Then settles. Not all the way… but enough.
Something in my chest pulls tight. She did that. Because she meant it when she said it, and I don’t know if the words are for the horses or me.
The whole damn barn feels too small all at once, but I don’t pull back. “You’ve got a way about you,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She turns her head. Our faces are closer than I realized. The air shifts.
A hard beat of thunder shakes the building. Somewhere behind us, a latch rattles. Neither of us moves.
Dakota’s eyes fall to my mouth. Then back up.
There’s no fear in her. No uncertainty. Just the same steady openness that’s been undoing me from the start.
“You only noticed that now?” she asks softly. Her voice shouldn’t sound like that in a place like this. Warm. A little breathless. As if she already knows where this is going.
I should step back. But I still don’t. Instead, I say, “I noticed.”
She goes still.
The horse exhales between us, calmer now than either of us.
“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” she asks.
Because wanting you is the kind of thing that wrecks a man, and I know how fast good things turn. Because the second I let this happen, I’ll want more than I can afford.
My throat works, but I stop my tongue.
Lightning flashes through the slats, sharp and white. For one second, her face is all I see. Rain on her skin. Mouth parted. Eyes on mine.
I reach for her before I can think better of it. One hand at her waist. The other at the back of her neck.
Then I kiss her.
It isn’t gentle. Or careful. It’s a week of restraint packed into one bad decision.
Her mouth opens under mine with a soft sound that hits me low and hard. She grips my shirt like she’s holding on, and I pull her closer until there isn’t room for air between us.
The storm crashes around us. Inside the stall aisle, everything burns quiet and hot.
I taste rain on her lips. Feel the curve of her against me. The give of her body when I back her against the wood just enough to steady us both.
I break the kiss first. Barely.
Forehead against hers, breath rough, I keep my hands where they are because I don’t trust myself to move them.
“This is a mistake,” I say.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “Then why are you shaking?”
I let out something close to a laugh. No humor in it. Because she can feel it.
I haven’t wanted anything like this in so long I forgot what it does to a body. To a mind. To the part of a man that’s easiest to lose.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I say.
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m not asking.”
That nearly does me in.
I kiss her again, slower this time and somehow worse for it. More deliberate and aware.
She rises into it without hesitation, one hand sliding up into my hair, the other still twisted in my shirt. I feel that touch…
Everywhere.
My hand slips from her waist, skimming the damp fabric at her side, the soft curve beneath it. She shivers.
Not from the cold.
“Dakota,” I say against her mouth, warning or prayer—I don’t know anymore.
“Yes.”
Just that.
One word. Willing. Certain.
I close my eyes for a second.
The storm keeps pounding the roof. The horses shift, then quiet again, the whole barn wrapped in heat and rain and the smell of hay.
This could go somewhere I won’t be able to take back.
I know it. She must know it too. “Just once,” I say, voice rough enough to scrape. “You understand me?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie.
Not because I mean to deceive her. Because I already want more than once. I’ve wanted more since the first time she walked into my stables.
Her hand comes up to my jaw, warm and steady. “You don’t even believe that,” she says.
No. I don’t.
That should stop me.
Instead it breaks the last piece of control I had left.
I lift her onto the edge of the tack trunk without taking my mouth from hers. She gasps softly, fingers digging into my shoulders now, and I step in between her knees like I belong there.
Dangerous thought.
Worse when her legs part for me without hesitation.
I drag my mouth down the line of her throat, feeling the jump of her pulse against my lips. Her head tips back against the wall, and the sound she makes is small and honest and enough to make me lose the rest of my mind.
My hands move over her like I’ve been denying them the right for too long. Her waist. Her hips. The soft give of her thighs beneath damp denim.
She touches me like she’s just as wrecked. That might be the worst part.
Or the best.
I don’t know.
I only know I’ve spent days trying to keep a line between us, and now I can’t remember why I thought distance would save me.
I lift my head just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed. Her blue-green eyes darker. Her breath unsteady.
Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word for what she is in this moment.
“You still want this?” I ask.
Her answer is immediate.
“Yes.”
Nothing coy in it. Nothing halfway.
I nod once, more to myself than to her, and kiss her again with all the hunger I’ve been trying not to show.
The rest comes fast after that. Not rushed. Not careless.
Just inevitable.
Every touch lands deeper than it should. Every breath she takes sounds like permission. I thumb open her jeans, snagging the waistband and pulling hard and fast.
She gasps, and I realize I’ve taken her panties with them.
God. My hand drops to the curve of her waist, sliding slow and sure. Goosebumps follow my touch as I palm the bottom of her impossibly smooth thigh, spreading her wide.
Dakota’s breath catches in her mouth. She’s auburn down there, too. But it’s slick, wet… That undoes me—her body begging, needing, echoing the strain behind my zipper.
I drop to my knees before she can protest because I have to take her there. Won’t settle for less. My hand climbs her inner thigh, hot breath teasing the raised nub already going swollen for me.
She smells like the only thing I ever need. God, if she tastes the same, I don’t know what I’ll do.
City girl. City ways. Won’t stay.
That’s what I tell myself.
But the words feel distant. Without the sting. Like maybe this could be something else.