I ease back slightly, giving her enough space to breathe without escaping. “We're not done here.”
“We are absolutely done here.” Yet her hands remain fisted in my shirt, contradicting her words. Her chest rises and falls rapidly against mine.
I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, sensing it quiver. “From where I'm standing, that felt pretty damn inevitable.”
Her hands slide up my chest and hope flares in my gut.
“George!” Sheriff Lucas is closer this time, and reality crashes back.
She jerks away like her body has betrayed her. Her eyes dart to the barn door, not out of fear, but looking for escape. Distance. “This was a mistake.”
I catch her wrist before she can run, her pulse racing under my fingers. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you want to do it again?”
Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn't pull away. Progress. “I have to go.” But she doesn't move. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. “The fundraiser?—”
“Can wait.” I release her wrist but stay close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “This isn't over, George. Not even close.”
She stares at me for a long moment, something wild and wanting in her eyes. Then she turns and walks away, her boots echoing on the wooden floor. Each step feels like she's taking a piece of me with her.
I watch her go, already planning my next move. She’s right about one thing—this is complicated. But she's wrong about the other. This isn't a mistake. This is inevitable. I just need to figure out a way to prove it to her.
I watch her disappear around the corner, my body still humming with the imprint of her—the ghost of her touch leaving a trail of heat under my skin like whiskey burning its way down. Her taste lingers on my lips, something uniquely George that burrows under my skin.
This wasn't the plan. Not even close.
And maybe she was right to pull away.
She had me all figured out. I shouldn’t be surprised. She grew up under the roof of a soldier. She knows what military looks like, even when it’s wearing jeans and a ball cap instead of camo.
And now she knows what I am. Or what I was.
Former SEAL. The kind of man trained to walk into fire and not blink.
It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. Not today. Not like a confession pressed from my chest between a kiss and a warning.
But the second I saw the suspicion in her eyes, I knew I had to give her something real. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Because whatever I gave her—my truth, my touch, my fucking patience—George looked at it like it might be another weapon waiting to go off in her hands.
Maybe that’s why she walked away even after she gave in.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Funny how a temporary place to stay and work on “security detail” turned into “can't stop thinking about the sheriff's daughter.”
Real professional, Beckett.
I came to Havenridge Ranch to help a friend. To rest for a while. To enjoy the silence. Instead, I found her, all sharp edges and hidden softness.
And now I can't remember what quiet even felt like.
Chapter11
George
String lights drape the main barn, casting a warm glow over the event. The scent of barbecue mixes with the sound of laughter, country music, and clinking glasses.
People are everywhere—local ranchers, business owners, town officials, even a few reporters here to cover the charity event. It should be a good night.
Except it’s not.
