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Three little dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared as he wrote out a response.
My stomach tightened with sudden anticipation as I waited for his text to appear, but it seemed like he was writing a goddamn novel.
Grant: I’d miss me, too.
“Funny,” I whispered aloud, smirking as I typed out:
Me: You’re the worst.
Grant: Am I? I heard you like at least one thing about me.
I froze, wondering what the hell I was supposed to say to that.
There was a lot of things I liked about Grant… some things I loved about him, even. But those things were strictly physical.
At least my sex-depraved mind and body was telling me so.
Me: You have nice hair.
I admitted that much to him, then tossed my phone on the other side of the bed, curling my knees into my stomach to try to staunch the heat prickling between my thighs. All I could think about was running my fingers through those soft, golden-brown curls and how they’d feel against my breasts, then my stomach, then my inner thighs when he—
My phone buzzed—twice.
Grant: You have nice legs.
He continued in the second text:
Grant: I’d love to see them gripping my horse.
Woof. This was taking a turn into forbidden territory.
Me: I’m sure you would. My heartrate was beginning to thunder.
Grant: We can make that happen on one condition.
Me: Oh, yeah? What’s that?
Grant: You take back what you said about my hat being… stupid.
“Goddammit, Holliday,” I growled, pressing my face into the pillow, and silently screaming. That kid heard and remembered everything that came out of my mouth. I needed to be more careful.
Grant: I’ll give you some time to mull it over. Go back to bed, Moira. I better not see you until later this afternoon.
“Bossy,” I griped, feeling suddenly foolish as I angrily put my phone back on the charger and stared up at the ceiling. Thrumming heat at the apex of my thighs was making it impossible to fall asleep, especially not when Grant’s smoldering gaze replayed over and over in my mind. And his words…
I’d love to see them gripping my horse.
Oh, God. What was I going to do?
* * *
I peeled into the driveway, the early evening sun beating down on the gravel and sending waves of pure, white-hot heat rippling over my view of the empty front porch.
I flicked my sunglasses on top of my head, scowling at the way Grant had left the front door wide open. Anyone and their mama could walk right in and mosey around the place if they wanted to.
I tucked the speeding ticket I’d gotten on my way out of Bozeman in the pocket of my jean shorts and huffed with frustration at the heat, which felt a whole hell of a lot like Dallas at the moment. The humidity stuck to my skin, leaving me feeling overall sticky and gross.
I wanted a shower, a cold one, for more than one reason.
