Page 87 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Emmett holds my gaze, then reaches up and brushes his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a streak of soot I’d forgotten was there.

His hand never leaves my face, and I find myself leaning into the touch before I even realize I’m doing it.

“You missed a bit,” he says, smiling.

“I was hoping it’d become part of the look.”

He chuckles, his eyes drifting over my face like he’s checking for an injury he hasn’t found yet. “I’ve been worried sick since that beam came down.”

“I noticed.”

“I don’t think you did.”

The smile slips from my face.

He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “When I saw you out there…” His thumb traces lightly along my cheekbone before settling beneath my jaw. “All I could think about was getting to you.”

My heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze. Nobody says things like that to me.

Nobody means them.

His hand stays against my skin while I search his face, and the kitchen suddenly feels much smaller than it did a minute ago.

Smoke still clings to his shirt, his hair’s a mess from hauling hoses across the yard, and there’s soot streaked across one side of his neck, yet all I can think about is how carefully he’s looked after me ever since he pulled me away from the fire.

“You really do worry too much,” I say, although the words come out softer than I intend.

“I probably do.” He smiles again. “I’ve got five years of practice.”

I laugh, and his expression warms enough to make my chest tighten.

My eyes drift to his mouth before I can stop them.

When I look back up, he’s already watching me, and the careful distance he’s kept all evening collapses.

I close the distance.

His mouth meets mine and I stop thinking entirely. He kisses me like he’s been holding it back for hours, and the same hands that wrapped my burn so gently now grip my jaw like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

I grab a fistful of his shirt.

He makes a low sound and pulls me closer. I feel the edge of the cabinet against my back and his heartbeat against my palm, and the heat of it has nothing to do with anything burning outside.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Emmett

I want her.

I ache for her. I need her.

I haven’t felt hunger like this in years, maybe decades. It tears through me so completely that the rest of my life folds in on itself.

Every memory from the last five years, every endless lonely hour gives way to the warmth of her mouth, the taste of smoke on her breath, and the frantic pulse beating beneath my fingertips as if she’s calling every part of me closer.

She catches my bottom lip between her teeth and laughs, rich and throaty, like she’s daring me to lose whatever restraint I’ve got left, and I give it to her without a fight.

I scoop her into my arms, her knees locking around my waist while she keeps her burned hand careful. She buries the other in the back of my neck, her nails dragging across my skin until every nerve lights up.