A crooked grin overtook his face as he glanced back at his snickering friends. “Away from these animals.”
Hank claimed a high-top and I sat on the stool next to him. We drank whiskey and bonded over the loss of a parent, the feral joy-rage that possessed us when working to beat theNew York Timescrossword puzzle and our shared passion for Christmas.
“It has to be a real tree.” I waved my drink around like it was a gavel. Hiccupped. “Every day of the week.”
He set his glass on the table with a thud. “Hell, if you don’t find a live animal livin’ in it, you’ve gone wrong.”
I laughed, and it was like wildflowers blooming inside my heart.
“Now the real question,” I said, “is lights. White or multicolored?”
“Multicolored.”
Head tilted, I pressed my lips together. “Hmm. I prefer white.”
“Ain’t a deal-breaker, is it, sugar?” Hank’s heated gaze slid to me and held.
“No.” I bit my lip, heat flooding me in response to the nickname. “It’s not.”
“So, city girl, you find a lot of live trees in San Francisco?” He ran a hand over his sharp jaw.
I studied him, like I could memorize every beautiful angle.
“I try.” Leg dancing under the table, I propped my cheek in my palm. “It bother you? I’m not a country girl?” I went for flirty, even though my question was genuine. What type of girl would this man go for?
But my effort was in vain. The words came out strained. Or maybe just honest. Come to think of it, that’s what I’d been the entire night. Just honest with Hank.
He searched my face, a grin curving his lips upward. “No. You still look like a cowboy’s dream come true.”
My heart stumbled in my chest. “You’re a romantic, Hank.”
“Can’t blame me. Not when I got a pretty girl here beside me.”
A blush crept over my cheeks, and inside I swooned. “Is it true?” I nodded at his brown Stetson. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy?”
He sat back, brow arched. “You want to find out?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Quite a line.”
“No line.” Gaze heated, he spun his empty whiskey glass on the table. “I want you to come back to my cabin.”
Despite my sweaty palms, boldness took over, and I ran a hand up his arm. “A cabin in the woods. Sounds ominous.”
He leaned in, lightly grazing a thumb across the arc of my cheekbone. “Ominous ain’t the word I’d use to describe what I plan to do with you, sugar.”
Awareness, desire curled that vibrating thread between us.
My core tightened, but I played it cool, arching a brow. “You take a lot of girls back to your cabin, cowboy?”
A serious expression overtook his rugged face. “Just the ones I want.”
My heart fluttered. My toes curled. In those six seconds of flirty bar banter, I already knew I loved a cowboy.
“Bell.”
I blink away the memory of being pinned against the wall of this very cabin that night. Of the moment he dropped to his knees and slid off my jeans to press a hot kiss to the inside of my thigh.
“What?” My voice comes out breathless.
