Page 28 of Cowboy Superstar

Windsor watched all the fascinating ridges of his body move and flex as he unsnapped the lid of the container.

“You want some?”

Windsor’s stomach growled. “Want? Yes. Should I? Probably not.”

He reached in and snagged a piece. “Have you ever had cold fried chicken?”

She shook her head as he brought it to his mouth for a bite.

“Missing out,” he said before tearing into a piece. After he chewed and swallowed, he nudged the container toward her. “It’s organic. Fried in coconut oil. As healthy as it gets.”

“We start filming …”

“One bite.”

She stared into the container. One bite won’t hurt …

She grabbed a piece, lifted it to her lips, and sank her teeth in to tear off a bite. As she chewed, she moaned. “Oh my goodness. Like buttery chicken deliciousness.”

“Thatta girl.”

He unscrewed the lid of the jar and slid it across the counter to her. “We pressed this ourselves from apples grown on the property, and Marta canned it. Organic, unadulterated, homemade apple cider. Like drinking the nectar of nature.”

The delicious scent wafted up to Windsor’s nose. She decided to live a little. “Glass?”

“Straight from the jar works. It won’t last past tonight anyway.”

Never in her life had Windsor drunk from a mason jar, but she’d been doing a lot of new things since she’d arrived in Montana. She lowered her chicken to the container, picked up the glass, and sipped.

Sweet, tart, appley goodness filled her mouth. She savored and then swallowed. “That is amazing.”

She set the jar back on the counter and slid it toward him. He gripped the glass with one wide hand, and with a piece of chicken in the other, he swigged.

It was so real. And Windsor loved it. She could almost pretend this was just life. She and Bo, refueling after amazing sex in their palatial kitchen on their incredible ranch in this beautiful place, where life was simple and all she had to focus on was keeping her man and herself happy.

Her mind stuttered on the thought, and doubts crept in. My man? Our ranch? Where had that even come from? I’m just getting into character, she told herself quickly. But she knew it was a lie.

“Do you ever lie to yourself?” she asked him before she could stop the question from coming out.

His dark blond brows dipped as he took another swig of cider.

He put down the jar and licked his lips. He was ridiculously sexy as he stood there, in low-slung gray sweatpants, with a piece of fried chicken in his hand.

“No, as a rule, I don’t. The first person you gotta call on bullshit is yourself. Why do you ask?”

“I think I’ve had a habit of lying to myself for a long time.”

“Probably.”

She dropped her gaze to the veins of sparkling stone in the slab of countertop.

“I have a long way to go with this honesty stuff,” she said quietly.

His big hand covered hers and squeezed. “Don’t beat yourself up. How else could you have survived a lifetime in Tinseltown? You were doing what you had to do under those conditions.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “It was all I knew.”

“Would you hold it against someone else if all they were doing was what they had been taught by their parents and what everyone around them was doing?”