Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Barrel racing, right?” Nightfall walks through a blanket of pine needles left over from winter. A tree comes between Pris and me, but her eyes find mine as soon as we pass.
“In another lifetime.”
“And a beauty queen to boot.”
“Rodeo queen,” she corrects with a laugh, her spine relaxing on the easy walk. “Lauralee won the festival.”
“They made a mistake.” I don’t mean to sound so serious. Is it normal to feel ill-will toward their bad decision eight years after the fact?
I notice how her eyebrows arch. It’s subtle, but she caught the bitterness that kidnapped my tone. “How do you figure, cowboy?”
We pull in the reins when we reach the edge of the rocky creek. I take in our surroundings—isolated and in shadow on the bank atop a large limestone shelf overlooking the water. With a grin and some gumption, I speak my mind. “From where I’m sitting, you’re fucking fantastic.” I could go on about the healthy, rosy cheeks and the pride in her eyes that comes with the exhilaration we both just felt, but I’ve already crossed one forbidden line. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but one line or ten, we’re both adults here. And Baylor’s nowhere to be found.
She laughs, directing her attention forward again before swinging her leg over and hopping down from the horse. “If only you had been one of the judges.” She anchors the reins around the horn on the saddle, leaving Sunrise to decide to stay or walk away.
I dismount and follow her down large rocks that have fallen like large steps for the gods. A nice wide platform is a good place to take off our clothes. She’s already one boot ahead of me, seeming to have no reservation about stripping down in front of me or jumping in the water that I remember being cold this time of year.
“It’s probably like ice in there,” I say, leaving my hat hanging on a branch next to hers. Starting on one boot and then the other, I begin to wonder how far she’ll take it. Are we talking bra and underwear or nothing but the outfit we were born with? I’ll let her lead and take the cue from there.
“I swear I have a fever after all that riding.” Pulling a hand away from the top button of her jeans, she holds the back of it to her head. “Muscles burning and the heat getting the best of me out there today.” Lowering her hand again, she pops the button and slides the zipper down without hesitation. “A cold shower was going to be my reward before dinner. Now, I can cool off here and take a hot shower later for my muscles.”
Every word from her mouth is an invitation for my thoughts to go wild. I’d be happy to help her with those sore muscles. I have an aching one myself.
What the fuck am I doing? And thinking?
I’ve become a fucking pervert around her. Get a hold of yourself, Grange. It’s a chick. It’s not like I’ve never seen one or fucked plenty. In the city, I can send a text, and a woman will show up in high fucking heels and nothing else but a trench coat ready to fuck in less than an hour if I wanted. So why am I tripping over myself for this one?
I know.
Pris is the forbidden. And nothing will taste as sweet as this peach.
She’s a delicacy I can’t—holy . . . I start to pace, needing a moment with my back to her to get a fucking hold of myself. Don’t do this, Grange. You’re going to regret it.
You won’t be able to look your best friend in the eyes ever again without guilt hanging over your head. Fuck me.
I turn back because I’m a weak sister-fucker and indulge myself.
Standing in nothing but a white cotton bra with lace wrapped around her ribs and pale pink bikini underwear with a white silk flower, drawing my attention straight to the top of her waistband, she asks, “Coming with me?”
Insinuation after invitation after every double entendre in the book. She’s good. Very fucking good. “Yeah, I’m coming with you.”
I tug off my shirt as she steps down into the water. I see her hesitate, but then she keeps going to the deeper part of the river. As I strip off my jeans, I watch her dip under, then come up with her hair slicked and even longer against her back when wet.
A streak of sunshine leaves that part of the river in the hottest part of the day, but I’m still leery. As a kid, it was nothing dealing with the icy river. I could have a heart attack now. Okay, a bit of a wuss response. How bad can it be? She’s in there swimming in the current.