“I sleep plenty,” I lie, feeling compelled to prove normalcy.
He scoffs. “No, you don’t.”
“How can you tell?” I ask, and it’s painful because it feels like I’m admitting a flaw.
He looks down at me, his voice equally low as he tucks my hair back, his touch light but deliberate. “How could someone not?”
There’s a thick moment between us as I stare back at him. And this time, I know he feels it too.
His arms flex as he pulls back, slipping his fingers back in his pockets, that white shirt looking like it’s going to tear off his body as he does it.
“The cottage,” I start quietly. “Raiding your staff kitchen just to stock mine. Not firing me for coming in late. And then there’s that whole H.R. issue we were talking about.” I point a finger at him. “People are going to start claiming favoritism.”
He steps closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Now why would people get the idea that you’re my favorite? ’Cause you got boobs?”
“So you’ve noticed.”
He grunts. “Hard not to when you keep pressing them against me.”
Heat curls in my stomach. “Byaccident.”
He cocks his head. “Yeah.”
It totally is. But I’ll play his game. Holding his gaze, I risk the question. “Why would I do it on purpose?”
It’s a risk not because he’s my boss—that’s temporary. But because he’s Wesley’s best friend. And that’s forever.
I know enough about bro-code to know the kid sister is almost always off-limits.
I might instigate trouble for myself, but am I willing to risk their friendship?
The immediate answer is no.
Still, eyes locked on his, an imaginary kiss hovering in the space between us, I find myself waiting for Wilder’s response. One that just might admit.?.?. there’s something here.
I watch him consider it. See the conflict slowly die out as he lowers his gaze to my lips. Then something hardens in his eyes, and I know.?.?. he’s changed his mind.
“Good night, Rose.” He starts down the porch steps.
“Wait,” I call and follow him, because there’s no way I’m letting that one go.
He doesn’t turn back as he reaches his horse. Throwing one arm in the air like he’s taking a wild guess, he says, “Maybe a cowboy is on your ride list.”
“My what list?”
He doesn’t look at me as he adjusts the reins. “Your ride list. It’s like a bucket list but no one’s dying.”
I exhale a laugh. “OK, that’s not what I thought you meant.”
There’s a beat before he adds, “Things you want to try before moving on to the next wild thing Rose chooses.”
I drag in a steady breath at the misconception that I’m wild. But I don’t contradict him. Because maybe wild is exactly what this wounded wrangler needs.
Maybe we both do.
“A cowboy wasn’t on my list.” I smirk. “Should it be?”
He turns to me, any playful air between us gone. “Not this cowboy.”
