“You sat on a bench for two hours.”
“I liked it. I liked watching you. You are good.”
He looked at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We got out of the truck. I followed him to the front door. He was close. I wanted him closer. He unlocked the door but didn’t push it open. “Bridger—”
He turned. All I had to do was reach out. His gaze traced over me, taking in all the parts I’d spent years learning to love. He was looking at me like he loved them too.
Momma’s rules came flying at me.
Rule #11: A lady never makes the first move.
Rule #5: Never kiss a man on the first date.
But then another rule pushed its way to the front of my mind.
Rule #15: Pride will cost you more than honesty ever will.
And the honest truth? I wanted to kiss him. Had wanted to since the moment I saw him in that town square covered in sawdust.
He looked at me, unsmiling. “Are you about to break another rule, Roxie?”
“Yeah, I am.”
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to me.
His mouth met mine, and everything else disappeared.
The first taste of him was a shock. Dark and exciting. Just like a first kiss should be. His stubbled jaw rasped against my skin.
His lips moved against mine slowly at first, then all restraint seemed to leave him. His tongue swept along the seam of my lips, not asking, demanding. I opened for him without thinking. His hand came up to the back of my neck holding me there as his mouth tasted every inch of mine. This was no casual kiss.
I pressed closer, going up on my toes, wanting more. Needing more. My breasts flattened against the solid brick wall of his chest, the heavy friction making my nipples instantly harden. I felt a flood of wetness between my thighs.
Boy, was I in trouble.
But that thought didn’t stop me. I wound my arms around his neck and he answered by pulling me closer, his big hand spreading across my back, then moving lower to cup the wide, heavy curve of my backside. His fingers dug deeply into my flesh, lifting me slightly off the ground to anchor me against him. He growled into the kiss, a dark, primal sound that made it clear he didn’t want me smaller—he wanted every single ounce of my softness crushed tightly against his hardness.
The kiss ended, but only because both of us needed to breathe. His thumb stroked along my jaw, before moving across my bruised lower lip.
“That was—” I started.
“Don’t.” His voice was rough. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say it was a mistake.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
His eyes searched mine. “No?”
“No.”
He reached past me and pushed the door open.
“Get inside,” he said.
It wasn’t a suggestion.