Page 36 of Tame Our Wild

It could always be worse.

The delicious smell coming from the kitchen tugs at my curiosity, but I ignore it and wander to the sliding glass doors. When I step onto the deck, it doesn’t take long for Colson to turn around and regard me. The chill night air brushes against my exposed skin, the combination of the world’s icy breath and Colson’s gaze making me feel damn near naked.

I shiver, clutching the towel to my front. “Can I join you?”

He gestures a hand toward the hot tub in clear invitation. My ass and feet starting to freeze have me moving swiftly across the deck. I toss my towel onto a nearby chair of an outdoor patio set and ascend the few steps, maneuvering my legs over the side. When my toes and legs submerge, my jaw clenches at the sting of my cold skin contacting the boiling water. The fresh scent of the ranch and oak is overtaken by the sharp, clean smell of chlorine rising with the steam.

I sink farther into the water, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to track my every movement. When I look up from the surface of the water, his dark irises appear more like an ominous forest under the string lights dangling above us. He’s still perched on the edge with his legs in the tub and a beer in his hand.

A corner of his mouth quirks. “I’m surprised you’re up. Figured you would sleep for the next twenty-four hours, considering how loudly you were snoring when I walked down the hall.”

My cheeks warm, but I know it’s not from the scalding water.

“I was not snoring,” I counter.

A chuckle vibrates his chest. “Kind of reminded me of the sick heifer I had to take care of a few weeks ago.”

Moving to stand in the center, I toss my hands out over the surface, splashing water at him. “Shut up! That’s so rude.”

“But accurate,” he tosses back with a shit-eating grin.

I catch myself suppressing a smile.

Droplets of water cascade down Colson’s pecs and defined abdomen, cutting into his stomach in a way that makes your fingers itch to dance over every hard plane. His skin, marked by raised bumps and scars, makes his strong frame even more flawless. I have them, too. All riders do.

I tell myself I’m observing his body to locate the physical reminders of grit, but really, I’m just checking him out, and I shouldn’t be.

Colson’s body is pure perfection. He has the kind of tatted biceps you want to grip. The type of veins in his forearms that you want to trace like lines on a map. He has that dark dusting of hair that makes you contemplate if the view at the end of the happy trail can take your breath away—and whether what he’s carrying between his legs has that ability, too.

I’ve never wanted to look at him this way, even though I know people fawn over his muscular physique all the time. He has several Instagram fan accounts, most of them filled with thirst-trap posts. I wouldn’t be surprised if one row of seats in the arena is specifically reserved for Colson Payne’s buckle bunnies.

I should tear my eyes away, but I’m taking the time to ogle his body now. It’s right in front of me in all its glory with tanned skin and dark ink embedded into his arms and shoulders. The tattoos are hard to ignore. I scan his arm sleeves, analyzing the flowers and leaves decorating his freckled skin from years of sun exposure on the ranch.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo. I find them beautifully expressive, but I’m so indecisive that I don’t know what I would get.

He takes a sip of his beer, curving a brow.

Shit. He caught me staring. “I’ve never really seen your tattoos before. Sunflowers?” I break the silence.

He extends an arm and rotates it, inspecting the design. “What? A man can’t have a favorite flower?”

I wet my lips. “It’s just unexpected.”

His steadfast gaze drags across every inch of exposed skin on my chest. My arms. My stomach. The soft swells of my breasts. “Is that a good thing?”

Sinking back into the water, I wade backward until my back hits the edge of the hot tub. I’m not sure what look he just gave me, but I don’t like it. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He pulls his wet fingers through his long strands, slicking his hair back in that effortless way that has the tendons in his arm rippling, sending a different kind of liquid heat rushing to my center.

I float my hands over the surface, feeling the suds burst under my palms. “Are you going to tell me why your favorite flower is a sunflower?”

He shakes his head, the rim of the bottle obstructing the tilt to his mouth. “Nope.”

“What?” I whine. “Why not?”

“Can’t give everything away too soon. Gotta keep things interesting around here. That story is for another time.”

“What if it’s a story that would help me realize maybe you aren’t the biggest asshole in the PBR and you actually might have a heart under all that ego?”