Page 20 of Cowboy

She’s cute in the morning, and I once again regret missing out on waking next to her at Green Rocks. As my eyes have a mind of their own, they lower for the fullness of her breasts and the dark nipples protruding from the thin white material. Her nips peak, poking at the soft fabric, making me lick my lips.

“Bull,” she whispers. My name is like a breathless call in the night. However, I fight the urge to plunder her mouth, tug down that neckline, and suckle those supple swells screaming for attention.

“Bull,” she says sharper, crossing her arms, which does nothing to distract me from wanting those lush breasts. Snapping out of it, I glance up to see a knowing smirk on her lips. Busted, buddy.

“Coffee?” she questions, and I lean around her, brushing my body against hers. I hold up the plug.

“Helps if you plug it in.”

She shakes her head, looking up at me. With us this close, I could kiss her. I could lean down and take her mouth, but she wants distance, and I can respect that—sort of. I plug the extension into the outlet and turn on the machine already primed to make coffee. I must have unplugged it to move it around the counter when I made dinner last night and forgot to return it to the outlet after washing dishes.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask, still crowding her in against the counter.

“Like a baby. That bed is too comfortable.”

I wouldn’t know as I’ve never slept on it, but I want to sleep on it with her.

Settle down.

Glancing up at the coffee machine as it hisses to life, I ask, “How do you work in a coffee shop if you don’t even know how a pot works?”

“Oh, well, I’m not a very good barista.” Her face pinkens, and I sense a story.

“Tell me more,” I tease.

“I just wanted a job, something to fill my time.”

“Did you work before coming to Vermont?” Her eyes meet mine, and she quickly looks away.

“I worked for an entertainment company.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like a television station.” I’m not much for television, preferring movies on occasion and a hockey game on the regular. She waves her hand, dismissing the topic, and turns to face the coffee machine as though she can make it work faster. As she presses her hands against the counter, strumming her fingers, I reach over her for the cabinet. My chest meets her back. The front of my pants hits the seam of her flannels.

She stills, and I inhale the sleepy-scent of her neck.

“Coffee mugs,” I whisper, blowing air at her moist skin, and she shivers. Opening the cabinet over her head, I pull down two mugs with one hand. Resting the other on the opposite side of her body, I cage her in. My nose trails up her neck. She doesn’t move away from me like she did yesterday. So much for distance. After I set the mugs on the counter, my mouth hovers over her neck, and she tips her head, allowing me better access. Her body is begging me to taste her. Breathing her in, I lift my hand for her belly, landing over the spot where one day soon she’ll swell. The idea of it causes me to inhale, and her breasts heave. Those nipples are so ripe, teasing me for attention.

“Knock, knock.” The soft click of the front door tells me someone entered. Dammit. Everyone has a key to my place, and I might need to impose a no-entry policy for the length of Scarlett’s stay. Instantly, I step back and turn toward the entry door, placing myself in front of Scarlett in her revealing tank top. However, there’s no way to disguise the raging hard-on in my pants.

“Heard we have a visitor.” My youngest brother’s teasing voice lets me know he’s here to scope out the situation. Nosy bastard.

“What do you want?” I snap.

“Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”

“Good thing I have another one who can take the spot,” I groan, needing a second to cool my thoughts of Scarlett, the kitchen counter, and what I’d like to do to her against it.

“Hiya Red,” he says, tipping his head to look around me.

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispers behind me, and the sound of her voice tells me she doesn’t like that nickname. It’s more than disliking a play on her bright hair but something deeper.

“Blade, this is Scarlett Russell. Scarlett, my pain in the ass, little brother Blade.”

She waves around my arm.

“Carly sent me down to tell you to bring your guest to breakfast.” Guest. I am not liking that word, as I want to claim Scarlett as more, but I can’t.