Page 28 of October’s Cowboy Beau

“I’m not.”

I crossed my arms. “She didn’t have to be terrible for what she did to be wrong. You said no. She decided what she wanted mattered more.”

Beau looked at me for a long moment.

“I don’t think you’re a story,” I said.

His eyes held mine. “What do you think I am?”

That was a dangerous question with him standing close enough that I could see the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. I could’ve made a joke. Instead, I stepped toward him.

“A man who should stop asking questions if he isn’t ready for the answers.”

His smile was brief. “Fair.”

I kissed him before I could think of something safe to say.

Beau caught me at the waist, and the kiss immediately changed from the ones we’d shared before. There was no cold air, no horses waiting, no public road or empty rodeo grounds to remind us to stop.

My hands moved up his chest and around his neck while he pulled me closer.

He kissed me harder, and I opened for him without thinking about it. His mouth was hot against mine, his beard rough enough to scrape my skin, and when one hand slipped under the hem of my sweater, the feel of his palm against my bare skin sent a shiver through me.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Nothing about my answer needed more explanation.

I kissed him again and slipped my hands underneath the edge of his shirt. His stomach tightened under my palms as I explored higher, finally getting my hands on what I’d been wondering about since the first morning.

Beau caught one of my hands and pressed a kiss to my palm. “Bedroom.”

I smiled. “You’re bossy.”

“Caroline.”

I took his hand and headed down the hall. Leading Beau through his own house probably should have felt awkward, but it didn’t.

His bedroom was simple, like the rest of the house. Dark wood furniture, a quilt folded across the end of the bed, boots lined up near the closet. I turned toward him and reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Beau caught my wrist.

“What?”

His gaze held mine for a second before he said, “You forgot to ask.”

I stared at him. Then I understood. The memory of that first morning hit all at once: Beau next to Hank and Gus, me giving directions because I thought he was someone else, and the question I’d been asking myself ever since.

I smiled. “Take off your shirt.”

This time, he did. The flannel hit the floor, followed by the T-shirt underneath, and I finally got my answer. Seeing his chest was worth the wait. Broad shoulders gave way to ridged abs. A line of dark hair disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. He had the kind of body that came from lifting feed, hauling equipment, and working outside instead of spending an hour posing under gym lights.

Beau stood there while I got an eyeful.

“There,” I said. “That clears something up.”

“What?”

“The question I’ve had since the first day.”