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But there was. Firmly drawn. You weren’t meant to look ahead too far.
And right now, it was easy to believe that there was nothing outside of this bar. The thing outside of this moment. It was how he felt when he got on the back of a bull.
There was nothing but that. But his thighs pressed against the bull’s flanks. The breathing of the animal as he prepared for the chute to open. For the fight to begin. The rush of adrenaline in his own body as he prepared for the fight of his life.
Those were the moments in life he loved, because they narrowed down to fractions of a second. To a single moment.
To everything.
Everything being within reach. Everything being within sight.
There was simply his hand wrapped around the leather strap, the sensation of that pressure pushing the glove more deeply into his palm. The smell of the dust and the animal. The sound of Garth Brooks and the crowd.
This moment was like that. Suddenly, there was nothing. Nothing but her. Nothing but him. Even the edges of the room had gone dark and fuzzy.
The jukebox was playing Luke Bryan. The room smelled like alcohol, fry oil and tobacco. And she looked like heaven. Something bright and glowing against the darkened backdrop.
And there was no moment beyond this one. Nothing beyond the next breath.
And nothing, nothing beyond the last breath.
And so it seemed the easiest thing in the world to take a step toward her. And then another. The easiest thing in the world to square his body right in front of hers, and watch as she pressed herself just slightly against the bar. Away from him, but her eyes told him that she didn’t actually want to move farther away.
And then her eyes dropped to his mouth, back up to his eyes. And if he were to ask what they were doing, he wouldn’t have an answer. If he were to ask himself why the hell he was about to do this, he wouldn’t have an answer.
But he just didn’t need an answer. He didn’t need a fucking answer. Because that meant that there was something beyond this. And right now he wasn’t acknowledging that. Not even a little bit.
It was only this. Only this.
And that was when he planted his hands on the edge of the bar, on either side of her body, and looked at her like he might be able to find some answers at the very bottom of that green gaze.
She lifted one hand and placed it on his chest. Warm fingertips flexing there, shifting the fabric of his shirt over his skin. His heart rate kicked up, like he was about to ride, and the world narrowed even further. Pink cheeks, pink lips, green eyes.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and leaned in. He felt her breath against his skin. Then she moved her hand to the back of his neck. Her fingertips were so soft. Impossibly.
Cara shifted, leaned in, stretched up on her toes.
And she kissed him.
Eight
Oh, she was doing it. She was kissing him. Her mouth brushed his, and a streak of heat went through her that she couldn’t deny. She pulled away, almost the instant their mouths touched. “I’m sorry,” she said. She turned away. “Shit. I’m sorry,” she said again.
He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, his hands curved around her forearms, and gripping the edge of the bar, pinning her there. “You just kissed me.”
“I did,” she said.
And suddenly, she found herself being hauled toward him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pushing her body against his, and when he kissed her, he did not move away.
No. His kiss was deep, hard. Hot.
And it was Jace.
She wanted to pull away and scream with the hysteria of it.
Jace.
It was Jace.
