Page 9 of Oops I Fell For The Rancher Next Door

His mouth is warm. Firm. He doesn't grab, doesn't push. But he doesn't pull back either. One hand slides from my hip to the small of my back. Steadying. His lips open against mine, slow and deliberate. Patient. Thorough. Absolutely certain.

When I pull back, his breath is uneven. His fingers flex against my lower back. Those brown eyes are darker now, the gold in them catching the last light.

"I'm gonna need you to tell me that was okay," he says, voice low. "Because I've been thinking about that for a week and I need to know I'm not the only one."

"It was okay."

"Good." His thumb traces one slow circle at the base of my spine. "Because I'd really like to do it again."

I pull him down by the flannel. This time his hand comes up to cup the side of my face, tilting my head, deepening the angle. His tongue drags across my bottom lip. My fingers tighten in his shirt. A sound comes out of me that I'd be embarrassed about if his hand weren't gripping my hip hard enough to tell me he heard it and liked it.

We break apart breathing hard. His forehead drops against mine.

"I can't do this fast," I whisper. "I'm not ready for fast."

"I've been on this mountain five years, Shelby. I don't do anything fast."

A laugh slips out. Real. Unguarded. It surprises both of us.

He pulls back enough to look at me. Recognition in his eyes. A man who just heard something he didn't know he needed.

"Go home," I say. "Before I do something else stupid."

"Kissing me is stupid?"

"Jury's out."

His mouth curves. An actual smile. Small, lopsided, devastating.

"Goodnight, Shelby."

"Goodnight, Cade."

I walk back across the dark yard to my cabin. The porch step holds.

Chapter Four

CADE

Three days since she kissed me and I can still feel her hands in my flannel.

Three days of fence work, cattle checks, normal routine. Not going over there uninvited because she said she can't do fast. So I'm doing my job, eating dinner alone, going to bed at nine.

Except now I can't sleep.

Thursday evening, a knock on my door. After seven. Already dark. Nobody knocks on my door.

Shelby is standing on my porch holding a foil-covered plate.

"I made dinner. Too much for one person." She holds it out. "Chicken. It's actually good. I can cook when there's a working stove."

Her hair is down. First time I've seen it out of that knot. Dark, past her shoulders, a little wavy from being tied up all day. She's wearing jeans that fit her hips in a way that makes my mouth dry. A sweater that falls off one shoulder, showing the strap of something underneath.

"Come in."

She steps past me. Pauses inside the door, looking around. My place is clean. Sparse. A couch, a table, the kitchen. Not much on the walls.

"It's tidy." She sounds surprised.