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“Here you are,” she said. “Obviously not in a coma.” She wanted to push him again, but instead, she sank into him. He smelled like leather and horses, sunshine and freshly laundered cotton. Blast Olli for her perfect male scents.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to do anything.”
“Do anything?” She pulled back enough to look up at him. “What does that mean?”
“You’re going to be very angry.”
Ginny’s pulse pounded, and she needed a clear head to hear what he was going to say.
“Because you obviously don’t know.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together and turned around. “Dear Lord, is this a mistake?” he prayed right out loud.
Ginny watched him with wide eyes, fear running through her now. “Just tell me,” she said. “Because no, I don’t know.”
He took his sweet time turning back to her, and it should be illegal for a man to look as good as he did. Long legs clad in black slacks. Bright blue dress shirt, open at the throat. Dark leather jacket, black cowboy hat, with a little scruff on his face since he hadn’t shaved since that morning.
He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, but this look was so much better.
He ground his voice in his throat as he removed his hat and put it back on. “Your mother asked me to stay away from you.” He nodded once, like that was that.
Instant fury roared to life within Ginny. “She didwhat? When?”
“At the New Year’s Eve party,” he said. “After we kissed. She said horses and whiskey don’t mix, and that if I respected you at all, I’d break things off between us.”
“I am going to kill her.” Ginny had never felt such rage.
“That’s not quite right,” he said, frowning. “She said if I respected you at all, I’d make sure that that night was the last time we were seen together.”
Ginny didn’t care what wording her mother had used. She’d overstepped her bounds—again. Ginny stepped around Cayden, her destination the mansion in the middle of the family land.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said, darting in front of her and blocking the door. “You’re not going back out there.”
“Yes, I am,” she said calmly. “Get out of my way.”
“I said you couldn’t do anything if I told you.”
“I didn’t promise,” she said, stepping right into him but not for a good reason this time. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I—don’t,” he said, his eyes wide and alarmed. “Of course I don’t.”
Ginny took a step back, refocusing her anger on the right person. Mother. “No oneis going to tell me what to do,” she said, her teeth gritting. “I’m forty-six years old, and if I want to go out with Cayden Chappell, I’m going to.”
She needed to find her core again, because she didn’t like this wild feeling coursing through her.
“Ginny,” he said, his fingertips landing lightly against her forearm.
That grounded her, and she looked at his hand and then up into his eyes. “Yes?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go find my mother,” she said. “I’m going to tell her she was right—I should always pack a second outfit for formal events. I don’t do it, because well, because she said I should. Then I’m going to tell her she had no right to speak to you about our relationship. Once that’s ironed out, I’m going to call you and ask you to dinner.”
A small smile touched his mouth. “You’re scary when you’re mad,” he whispered. He bent his head and trailed a line of fire up the side of her face with his lips. “You don’t need to ask me, sweetheart. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“You’re still interested?” she asked, her voice breathy now.
“Was that not obvious from that kiss?”
“Maybe I need you to show me again.”
