Page 37 of His Texas Claim

I ran my hands down over his stomach, feeling him tense under my palms, and reached for his belt.

"You gonna keep starin'," he said, "or you gonna get in?"

"Multitasking."

I got his belt undone, jeans shoved down, and he stepped out of them the rest of the way while I finished undressing myself. Neither of us said much for a minute—just the sound of water still running, steam thickening the air, his eyes tracking every inch of me. He stepped in first, then I got in front of him—and we both sank into the water to settle there, his arms coming around my waist.

I groaned at the sensation of the water, my eyes closed, his broad chest behind me…God, it felt good.

“This is…heavenly,” I breathed.

“Yeah.”

I cracked one eye open to look over my shoulder. “You’re allowed to enjoy things, you know. Not everything has to be a fight.”

"Workin' on it."

"You've got a long list of things you're working on."

"Got a lot of years to make up for." His mouth found my shoulder. "Figure I got time now."

THIRTEEN

Stetson

We stayed in the bath until the water went cold, not really talking so much as just…melting. Breathing. Soaking it all in after a long, hard walk in the elements. The snippets of conversation we did have were about nothing at all—she wanted to know what my favorite movie was, I told her I didn’t have one. She committed herself to a full cinematic education for me, talked about building a curriculum.

The woman was crazy.

Didn’t know I needed that until right there in that bathtub.

Somehow I managed to convince myself to get out before I dozed off, dragging Bryn along with me. I wrapped her in the only clean and dry towel I had left—only had three in the whole damn house, and I hadn’t exactly prepared for guests when I’d gone out to check the fences four days ago. Her dark hair dripped on the floor, curling slightly around her shoulders and temples in unruly waves and cowlicks.

“Is this when I get the tour?” she asked—but I could see the exhaustion clear on her face.

“Nah, this is when we get in bed,” I said, toweling myself off just enough so I wouldn’t leave too much of a mess. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine and I have an agenda,” she protested. “Tour, sex, then we watch a movie, starting with⁠—”

“I don’t own a TV.”

“You don’t—” she paused, then reached up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. “I have no words for this. An American without a TV…”

“Gonna have to get over the whole American thing if you’re havin’ an American baby,” I chided.

“And I’m not going to have any American baby if you keep taking sex off the agenda.” She tapped her hip. “Remember? One ovary so we have to try twice as hard.”

I moved toward her, putting my hands on her hips. She dropped the towel without a second thought. “Mm…how am I supposed to resist when you talk sexy like that?”

She leaned in, her hand gliding down my abdomen, and I hissed out a breath when she wrapped her fingers around my cock. “You don’t feel very tired.”

“Never too tired to fuck you, baby.”

Her hand kept a slow rhythm, walking me backward through the door, the two of us dripping water along the way. Buck had made himself scarce—good dog, because I didn’t want him interrupting. She kept stroking me, my head a mess.

“I do not know where I’m going,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on me.

“Mmph—bed,” I grunted, one hand shooting out to grip the doorframe to the bedroom. “In here.”