Page 89 of One Wild Chance

I close my eyes, just as the timer on his watch goes off for dinner. I snap back, heat rising into my cheeks.

He stands, rubbing the back of his neck, his brow creased. “Uh, guess that’s our sign that dinner’s ready.” Then he heads off toward the grill.

Was he about to kiss me? Or did I imagine the way he was looking at me, like he wanted this as much as I did?

I lean back against the swing. This is probably the best date I’ve had in a long time. Maybe even ever.

After we eat dinner and finish off a bottle of sparkling cider he found in the pantry, I finally look at my watch.

“It’s eleven?” I gasp. “Where has the time gone?”

An amused smile curves his mouth. “You have somewhere to be this time of night?”

He knows I don’t have plans, unless it includes falling asleep on the couch to a movie, which is my usual Friday routine.

“I have the farmers market in the morning. And we haven’t washed dishes yet.”

He grabs my plate before I can. “You will not wash dishes on a date. That’s my job.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I protest.

“Can’t,” he says, stacking up plates and glasses and heading into the house before I can argue.

I follow him inside, stopping next to him at the kitchen sink. “It will only take a few minutes, Jaxon,” I say, turning on the water, full blast.

He immediately reaches in front of me and turns it off. “Dishes can wait,” he commands. “I need to take you home first.”

I glare at him, before hip-bumping him to the side. “Move over, cowboy.” Then I turn the water back on. “By the time you get back, you’ll be too tired. I can do this.”

“I know you can.” He flips the water off again and blocks the kitchen sink with his body, daring me to try to move him. “But I’m not going to let you.”

We forgot to turn the light on, both of us too focused on winning the dish battle to think about anything else. I have to look way up to see his face, which is only lit by the moonlight streaming in through the window. There’s something else in his eyes tonight—not the usual steel gaze, but a heat that’s been there since the dance and hasn’t faded yet.

“Come on, Jaxon, move,” I say, trying to push him out of the way, but he’s like the Great Wall of China. He folds his arms and smirks at my feeble attempts to make him budge.

I give him one last shove that accomplishes absolutely nothing except making him burst out laughing.

“You know what?” I fold my arms. “You can be really aggravating sometimes.”

His mouth curves into a wicked grin. “Funny. I was about to say the same, Wildflower.”

The smirk should not be working on me right now. I would like to file a formal complaint that it is, in fact, working on me, and that I find this wildly inconvenient, given I was approximately two seconds away from kicking him in the shin just to win this argument.

How can one man make me want to fight him and kiss him in the same breath?

“You know I can’t let you do the dishes.” His voice comes out low and rough, with just enough heat to be dangerous.

“Oh, yeah?” I say, tilting my head.

“Yeah.”

I jut my chin out. “Then just try to stop me.”

I want to pull those words back the second they leave my mouth. Because I just challenged Jaxon Chance to stop me, and he has never once turned away from the opportunity to prove me wrong.

His eyes drag over me like a lit match before he takes one long stride toward me, cups my face, and crashes his lips into mine. My heart riots in my chest at the press of his lips, the sudden wash of pleasure through my body.

I should push him away. I really should.