Page 58 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

Climb him.

Lick him.

Bite him.

Unzip him.

He clearly wasn’t reading the room—or maybe that was exactly what he was doing—because he tugged her up to stand with him, their bodies brushing, and even in heels she had to tilt her chin up so high she was nearly looking at the ceiling.

He was so different than the city guys she’d dated. He was tall, dark, and dangerous to her sanity. But he was always gentle with her making her feel delicate and feminine, like maybe small wasn't a flaw but natures design choice.

"My mama was a tiny thing," he said, voice rough. "Would barely reach my chest if she were still alive. She was the strongest person I’ve ever known." His fingers brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear with ridiculous tenderness. "You remind me of her."

A shiver zipped through her so fast she nearly vibrated off the floor. His smug grin confirmed he absolutely felt it.

"Are you gonna dance with me or do I have to beg, Vivi?"

Good God, the way he said her name turned her knees to pudding.

Imagining dancing with him. All that male perfection lining up with her very willing problems, creating friction that would turn her brain into a dirty slideshow. And doing it with the whole town watching? Her tongue turned to dust.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, hopelessly outmatched by this whole casual-sex-has-no-emotions philosophy. "I don't really know how to dance country."

"It's called a two-step. And I'm a hell of a teacher."

He took her hand and turned her in a slow spin, catching her against his chest when she stopped. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear, warm breath skating over her skin.

"Think of it as twirling with a partner. I already know you're an expert when it comes to twirling."

From a distance, they probably looked like a couple gearing up for a dance.

Up close?

Something seismic was shifting.

No cheesy lines or cocky swagger, just Boone revealing depth and softness she hadn't expected and—god help her—it made casual impossible.

She must have hesitated too long because he leaned in, voice a velvet scrape. "No pressure, Boots. When you decide, just tell me." Then he stepped back—long legs, effortless stride—heading across the bar, past the people waiting for their turn with him, and back to the pool table where his brothers awaited him.

Vivi stayed frozen, blinking after him, unsure what the hell had just happened. How had he worked actual feelings into something that was supposed to be cut-and-dried lust?

She looked away, hating herself for caring, focusing on the flat-screen just to get her emotions under control. She had come here with a plan, a perfectly good sex-trap. One twirl and a killer dimple later, she'd thrown the entire agenda into a bonfire.

Her gaze landed on a collection of aged Polaroid taped behind the bar. There must have been a few hundred of them, all with life lessons written beneath them. One caught her eye. It was Rea and based on the bell bottoms she was maybe thirty—mid-laugh, hair wild, eyes bright. Below it, read:

Give him a proper show. Leave him absolutely desperate and wondering how he’ll ever have enough of you.

Vivi read the next one. It was Dottie in a flower girl shirt with Daisies in her long blonde braids. Scribbled beneath her photo read:

Go hard, go wild, and make him beg for more.

“You ready to put your picture up there?” Dottie asked from behind the bar.

“First, I need to figure out who I am before I let anyone else decide who I’m supposed to be.”

CHAPTER 23

Vivi's fingers hovered over her phone like it was a ticking bomb, and she knew one wrong move could turn her peach-pie panic into full-blown disaster.