Stripped Down

It could be ours. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what Auntie Dee had in mind.

I lean in further so that I’m touching her. “That house is your home, Rose. I don’t want to take that from you. I thought maybe a check would let you start over. Pick some other place.”

“Coming home doesn’t work that way, Angel.” Her gaze dips slowly, and it kinda feels like she’s touching me as those baby browns move over my chest and down. “I wanted those four walls, those memories. So I’m not getting what I want. What I want to know is, what do you want? If we’re being honest with one another now?”

“You. You made me wait a long time for you, Rose.”

Guess my answer is the wrong one, because she slaps a hand on my chest and pushes. She’s touching me again, and I have it bad, because just that simple brush of her fingers against the cotton of my T-shirt makes my dick stir to life in my jeans. I followed her to talk, I remind myself. Not for sex on a picnic table.

The table looks damned good, though.

“I’ve been back in Lonesome for less than a month, Angel. I haven’t made you wait at all.” She sounds pissed off about that, too.

“I’ve been waiting years for you, Rose. You came to Lonesome when you were fucking sixteen. I should have been shot for the thoughts I had. Hell, you kissed me and I should have been shot for that. You were too young. I was too old. I wasn’t ever leaving this ranch and you’d made it plenty clear you wanted your chance to get out there in the world and explore.”

“But—”

I drag my thumb over her lower lip. It’s a victory that she doesn’t try to bite me. “You were years younger than me. You were still in high school, and I was up to my ears in the ranch. But I was tempted, Rose. Far too tempted.”

Fuck, but I need to back off. I force myself to step back when all I want is to wrap myself around her, kiss every inch of her, because I miss that closeness. She’s been gone less than half an hour, and I miss her. There’s a message right there.

“Tell me something first, before we go any further here,” she says quietly, standing up and taking a step toward me. I focus on the word that matters. First. She isn’t done with me, and that makes me impossibly, fiercely glad.

“Ask.” My voice sounds rough, but while I might be sweet on her, I’ll never be sweet. I think she knows that. “You know I’d never lie to you, darling. Sure”—I hold up a hand when she opens her mouth to protest—”I’m guilty as hell of not being as forthcoming as I should have been. I don’t want to fix the house. I do want to knock it down and drill, and I’ll force the sale if I have to because I have an entire ranch depending on that water. I shouldn’t have let you leave the lawyer’s office without hearing that. I did, and for that, I’m apologizing.”

She nods, her hair sliding over her shoulders. She hasn’t moved another step, though, so I start wondering if I have to get on my knees. I might actually consider it, because the move would put me on a level with her pretty little panties—and then I won’t be behaving myself anymore, and I sure as fuck won’t be doing the right thing.

“Tell me right now if our being together was you feeling guilty.”

“Hell, no.” I toss my good intentions out the window. Closing the small space between us, I curve a hand around her neck to tangle in her hair.

“We were together because you wanted me,” she presses. “And for no other reason. Just me. You tell me that I’m enough, that I’m good enough all by myself here. If that’s not the truth, then you give me the truth. Now.”

“Yeah.” I run my other hand down the straight curve of her spine, arching her into me. Her hands latch onto my forearms, hanging on but not pushing me away. “No matter what happens between us now, you think I’m ever forgetting us together? You let me in, darling, all the way in. That’s something a man doesn’t forget. That’s the kind of memory I’m going to be treasuring.”

“It was good,” she admits, sounding wistful.

“We were good,” I counter. “You were downright perfect. Perfect for me.”

“Really? You sure about the perfect?” She peeks up at me, and there’s that look I love so much, a look that’s pure sin mixed with more than a little mischief. Christ. When did she steal my heart? Because, looking at her, I know, clear as day, that she has and that I’m never going to be the same again. “That mean you want to kiss me again?”

“Always.” I make her that promise, meaning the words more than she knows. Rose wins this battle. I’ve fallen for her hard and fast.