Page 30 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

My pulse kicked up. "Addison⁠—"

"You said you don't get involved with clients."

"I don't."

"What am I, then?"

I looked at her flushed face, bright eyes, the way she was looking at me like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting. "Something different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know yet. But you’re not someone I can walk away from when this is over."

"Good." She pulled me down for another kiss. "Because I don't want you to."

I'd forgotten what it felt like to want someone like this. Not just physically—though that hit hard enough to make my hands shake—but completely. Every sharp word. Every stubborn choice. Every moment she refused to back down or let me take over. I wanted all of it.

Addison stopped at the top of the stairs and turned toward me. "Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"What I want."

I stepped closer. Ran my hands down her arms. "What do you want, Addison?"

"You. Here. Now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Not because you're scared or need distraction or⁠—"

Her kiss cut me off.

"Because I want you," she said against my mouth. "Is that a good enough reason?"

"Yeah."

We stumbled into the bedroom. I'd been sleeping on the couch since she arrived, giving her the only bed worth sleeping in. Seemed right that we ended up here together.

I kissed her slowly at first, giving her time to change her mind.

She didn't.

Her hands found the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Her palms skimmed my chest, then followed the lines of my arms until her fingertips caught on the old burn scars.

"From the fire," she whispered.

"Yeah."

"They don't hurt anymore?"

"No."

She lifted my wrist and pressed her lips to one scar. Then the other. Something in my chest cracked open. I caught her cheeks between my palms and kissed her harder.

She melted into me without hesitation, her breasts pressed to my chest, fingers sliding into my hair as I worked open the snaps of her shirt one by one until I could push the fabric from her shoulders.