Page 23 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

Louanne notices me. She says something to Jessie that deepens the flush, then shoos her toward the door with flour-dusted gestures. Jessie strips off her apron and washes her hands. I track every movement: water running over her wrists, how she bites her lower lip while scrubbing flour from beneath her nails, the rise and fall of her chest beneath my flannel.

Mine. The word echoes in my skull with possessive certainty.

The screen door creaks. She steps onto the porch and stops three feet away. The space between us crackles with enough electricity to start a fire.

“Louanne kick you out?” My voice comes out lower than I intend.

“She said I was manhandling the biscuit dough.” She’s steadier than her body language suggests.

“Were you?”

“Probably.” She doesn’t move closer. “You’ve been watching me.”

“I have.” No point denying it. “Couldn’t help it. You’re wearing my shirt.”

She glances down at the flannel like she’d forgotten. “I should give you back your shirt.”

“Don’t.” The word is rough on my lips. “It looks better on you anyway.”

The color in her face deepens, and her fingers flex. Satisfaction coils low in my gut at how her body responds.

“You said tomorrow.” She closes the distance until she’s near enough that I can smell flour and soap and her skin underneath. “It’s tomorrow.”

My fingers twitch. Every instinct screams to touch her, to pull her toward me and show her exactly what tomorrow means. “It is.”

“I still want this. Want you. Exactly the way I did last night, except now I’ve had twelve hours to be sure it’s not about running from the grief.” Her eyes hold mine without wavering. “I’m asking. I’m choosing. I need you to know that.”

The words hit me like absolution. My muscles tighten with the effort it takes to keep still, to not grab, to not take what she’s offering before I’ve heard all of it. “Jessie.” Her name sounds wrecked even to my own ears. “If we do this—if I take you to my cabin right now—I’m not letting you leave. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. You understand?”

“I understand.” She reaches up and fists her hand in my flannel, pulling me down until our mouths are inches apart. “Take me to your cabin, Eli. Show me what you’ve been promising.”

My control snaps. My mouth crashes down on hers, hungry and consuming, nothing gentle about the way I claim her lips and swallow the sound she makes. She angles her head in just the right position, and my tongue brushes her lips as she opens without hesitation. She tastes like honey from Louanne’s biscuits and something sweeter underneath. When she bites my lower lip, I groan into her mouth and pull her closer.

One hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, while the other finds her hip and drags her flush against me. She gasps when she discovers my hard cock behind my zipper, and possessive satisfaction surges through me.

Someone clears their throat.

I break the kiss. Cash stands at the bottom of the porch steps with his arms crossed and amusement written all over his face. “Y’all know there are guests checking in this afternoon, right? Might want to take this somewhere more private before you scandalize the tourists.”

I don’t release Jessie. I don’t step back or apologize or pretend we weren’t just devouring each other where anyone could witness. I just keep one hand locked on her hip and turn my attention to Cash. “We’re leaving.”

“I can see that.” His grin widens. “Sloane wants to know if Jessie’s coming to dinner tonight.”

“No.” The answer is immediate, absolute. “She’s not.”

Jessie nods in agreement beside me, and satisfaction coils tighter. She’s choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing to skip dinner because she’d rather be in my cabin finishing what we started.

He laughs. “I’ll let Sloane know. Have fun, you two. Try not to break anything. Let us know if you want Luanne to send over some plates for dinner.”

He disappears around the side of the lodge. I turn back to Jessie and show her everything I’ve been holding back: the desire, the urgency, the possession and certainty that she belongs to me and I’m not letting go. “My cabin. Now.”

I take her hand and start walking. My stride is long. She has to half-jog to keep up, but I can’t slow down. Can’t wait another second to get her alone. We cross the yard in silence, passing the barn and the chicken coop where Ruckus struts with his usual aggression, following the worn path through cedar trees that opens into the clearing where my cabin sits elevated and private.

The door isn’t locked. I pull her inside and kick it shut behind us. And then she’s pressed against the wood with my body pinning her in place and my mouth finding hers again. This kiss is different from the one on the porch, deeper and slower, like learning the responses her body gives me is the only thing I’ll ever do again. My palms are scorching against her bare skin when I slide them beneath her shirt. When my thumbs brush her breasts through her tank top, she arches into me, her gasp making my blood run hot.

“Eli—”

“I know.” I pull away and press kisses down her neck, teeth grazing the tendon there until her legs buckle. “I’ve been thinking about this all morning. About stripping this shirt off you and finishing the things we started last night.”