My heart stutters. Is this what it feels like? To be chosen?
“I’d love to,” I breathe, leaning closer without meaning to, smiling up at him.
It would be criminally insane to turn down a guy this sweet and good-looking.
He glances over his shoulder, subtle and quick, then he steps forward. His hands slide to my face before he pulls me in and presses his lips to mine.
It’s a slow kiss, soft and tentative, until he deepens it. My fingers curl into his sides to anchor myself to him.
When he pulls away, his hands linger longer than they should, his thumbs rubbing gently along my jaw. A promise and a warning all at once.
Then he tips his hat and walks away, leaving me standing alone in the sun—heart racing, lips tingling, dazed and smiling like a complete and total fool.
Feeling exceptionally foolish because I can’t stop replaying what happened outside the lodge with Wesley.
It didn’t hurt because it was new. It hurt because it wasn’t.
Ever since that night at Lucky’s, Lane and I have been finding every possible excuse to touch—brushing hands, lingering too close, stolen kisses, and bumping shoulders.
He’s come by while I’m working to “grab something,” but we both know it’s just another excuse.
He’s invited me to come hang out in the bunkhouse after work a few times. It’s really casual. The guys usually just sit around the table playing cards and drinking bourbon—which I hate—so I stick to water or Lane’s sweet tea.
Lane doesn’t ever drink, either.
Not once.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m invading theirman spacewhen I’m there. Lydia lives in the bunkhouse too, but other than her, there are no other girls around—not like that. Occasionally, some of the guys from the summer crew—whose names I never remember—will sneak away with a girl they’ve been fooling around with tucked under their arm.
But that’s not how it is with Lane.
I’ve thought about inviting him to my room more than once. Usually late at night when the world is quiet and I can still taste his mouth on mine.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Not to mention how wrong and disrespectful that would be to Heath. Even though I’m not officially an employee, I think the rule still technically applies, and it would be even worse to break it under his roof.
Heath’s done so much for me, and I hate the thought of disappointing him.
And yet every time Lane’s fingers brush mine, every time his gaze lingers on me with soft eyes, I feel the threads of temptation pull tighter. But wanting Lane isn’t the same as wantinghim,and I can’t force myself to pretend it is.
I don’t want to be a dirty little secret, but I’m afraid that if I say something, it would ruin everything. The bubble of bliss would burst and it would all come crashing down. Like it always does.
Ihaveadate.
I’m perched on the bathroom vanity, legs crossed and feet in the sink while applying mascara.
Because I’m going on a date!
A boy asked me out on a date. Well—a man. Lane Hartford isvery mucha man. A ridiculously handsome man who also happens to be a cowboy asked me on a date, and somehow, I said yes.
I still can’t believe it.
Wesley definitely didn’t believe it.
I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I just wanted him to back off. I was still a little pissed off from earlier—the way he looked at me—and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
He went completely still, and I knew then I’d crossed a line.
