Page 53 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

The smile she sends me is bright enough to make every sensible thought in my head file for retirement.

Neither of us looks away.

My pulse picks up.

Arizona’s hand lifts to my jaw, and that’s all it takes.

My lips collide with hers.

The second our mouths meet, every attempt I’ve made to keep my distance goes straight out the barn door.

Shit.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Arizona

This kiss might actually ruin me.

The second Willy’s mouth meets mine, the barn disappears.

The thunder rattling the roof, the rain hammering outside, the ridiculous fact that I’m sitting inside a blanket cocoon. All of it drops away beneath the jolt that tears through me.

One minute we’re trading stupid jokes while the storm puts on a show, and the next he’s kissing me like he’s made a decision he has no intention of revisiting.

And the worst part is that I don’t want him to.

Our teeth bump together and a laugh almost escapes me, but it never gets the chance. His hand slides to my jaw, rough calluses catching against my skin, and the simple touch sends every coherent thought scattering.

Apparently my entire nervous system has picked a side, and it’s Team Willy.

He’s got that same energy he brings to everything else. Certain, unapologetic, impossible to ignore.

I open my mouth to make a joke because that’s usually how I survive situations like this, but the attempt dies before it ever reaches daylight.

Willy catches the lapels of my jacket and pulls me upright, and suddenly we’re standing face to face with nowhere left to hide.

A chill runs through me. Maybe it’s the rainwater still clinging to my clothes. Maybe it’s the way his hands settle at my waist.

Probably not the rain.

Before I can gather my bearings, he backs me toward the wall. The beam at my back nudges my shoulder, and he braces one arm beside me.

Even with his size and the closeness between us, I don’t feel trapped. If anything, I feel more awake than I have in weeks.

The barn smells of damp hay, leather, and horses. Beneath it all is the scent that belongs uniquely to him, familiar enough now that I recognize it without thinking.

I reach for him automatically, looping my arms around his neck as though the gesture has always existed somewhere inside me, waiting for the right person to unlock it.

His forehead brushes mine when we finally pull apart. We’re both breathing harder than we should be, and neither of us seems eager to put any distance between us.

The realization lands with startling clarity.

Willy wants me.

And judging by the way my pulse is trying to launch itself out of my chest, I want him right back.

His mouth curves into a grin that looks equal parts pleased and dangerous. “Let’s get these soaking wet clothes off.”