Boone leans a hip against the counter and grins. “Well, yeah. I already got the girl. Gotta earn my keep somehow.”
The laugh that slips out of me feels easier than the one earlier. Real. Needed.
“Don’t you have work to do today?” I ask.
“Delegated.”
My eyebrows go up. “Look at you. Such sexy management skills.”
“Careful,” he says, wagging a finger. “If you get too impressed, I might start calling myself indispensable.”
“Too late.”
He smiles again, that easy one that always makes my stomach flutter.
“Where’s Hudson?”
“With Wren and the horses,” he says, turning back to check the pot again. “Tried to bribe him into staying and helping me cook, but he said ‘watching boiling water sounded tragic.’ His exact words.”
I snort. “Let me guess. Ridge withdrawal?”
Boone sighs. “Yeah. He’s been mopey ever since Ridge left. Won’t admit it, but I can tell. Those two got close fast.”
“Ridge was good for him,” I say softly.
“Yeah,” Boone says. “Made him feel like a sidekick instead of a responsibility.”
I glance up at him. “You’re pretty good at that too, you know.”
He looks at me then, something soft flickering in his eyes. “Trying to be. You doing okay?”
I nod. “Better now.”
My fingers find the hem of his T-shirt and slip underneath. His skin is warm, muscles twitching under my touch. Goosebumps rise in their wake. He stiffens a little, then grins—lopsided, cocky, boyish.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I press my palm flat against his stomach, sliding higher, just slow enough to make him twitch again. “Supervising.”
“Oh yeah?” His grin deepens.
“Mm-hmm.” I inch closer. “Making sure you stay focused. Would hate for you to burn Molly’s dumplings.”
He exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to keep it together. I kiss the edge of his jaw, and the sound that slips out of him is pure wreckage.
“Lark,” he warns.
“Boone,” I echo, my voice breathy, dragging my lips down the side of his neck. My hands roam higher beneath his shirt, fingers splaying over his chest.
He groans—low and needy—his hand finding my waist. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”
“Just conducting a quality control inspection,” I murmur, nipping just below his ear.
“Of what? My moral integrity?”
“The structural integrity of this operation,” I say, eyes sparkling. “You’re doing great, by the way.”
His grip tightens at my waist, like he’s trying to get his bearings, then his other hand slips up the back of my shirt, his rough palm dragging against bare skin.
