The way she kissed me? That wasn’t a mistake. That was a confession. The way she moaned my name, ingrained into my brain.
But I let her go.
And now, with the door swinging shut, I’m left in a damn restroom with a cock that could cut diamonds and a need so raw it makes my hands shake.
But this?
This ain’t over, darlin’.
Not by a fucking long shot.
Chapter 10
Mia
I practically crash through the bar’s front door like I’m being chased.
My heart’s thudding in my chest, my breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps. The cool Portree air smacks me in the face, but it’s not enough to calm the fire blazing under my skin. I need to move. I need to get away. Now.
I run.
Back through the winding streets, my heels clacking against the pavement, my body thrumming with adrenaline, heat and confusion.
When I get back to the motel, my feet hurt, my head’s spinning, and the wine I ordered is already whispering sweet nothings from the nightstand.
I dial Brè’s number, and she answers on the second ring like she somehow already knows I’m spiraling.
Holding the phone to my ear, I collapse onto the bed, cradling the wine bottle like it’s a therapy dog.
“Well, you sound like a woman who just committed a felony,” she purrs, her voice smooth and low, like she’s calling from a velvet couch in a silk robe.
“I kissed someone!” I blurt out.
Silence—then a delighted shriek that makes me wince and laugh at the same time.
“You kissed a cowboy?! Where? When? She exclaims.
“Not just any cowboy…I kissed…Grant Taylor” I groan out dropping my head into my hands.
Brè gasps so dramatically I canhearher clutching her invisible pearls through the phone. “Mia Bonney…You kissed Grant Taylor?!As inthecowboy of the South?” she exclaims.
I wince, but she barrels on, absolutely delighted with this news. “Oh, I can just imagine it! You’re in a tiny country town, wait—no, don’t tell me anything—let me guess where it all went down” She’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “In a field of wildflowers? Under a romantic moonlit sky, cicadas singing, maybe a distant fiddle playing romantic love notes softly in the background?” She’s breathless, already lost, building the scene of pure romance.
I cringe so hard my heart sinks into my stomach and I slap the heel of my palm to my forehead with a groan. “The men’s bathroom,” I mutter. “At the Whisky Barrel.”
Silence.
Then—
“DEAD!” Brè screeches. “Oh, baby girl,” she says with full reverence. “Nowthat’sthe kind of filthIlive for. I'm so proud I could cry. Please tell me you defiled something. Tell me everything. Spare no filth.”
“Brè.” I groan.
“No, really. The juxtaposition? Chef’s kiss. You? Miss 'I don’t do country'? Getting tongue-swiped by a cowboy next to a urinal? It’s like a Hallmark movie… but written by Martin Scorsese on a Red Bull bender.”
“Ewww!” I winch “And no, nothing got defiled, well, at least, I don’t know what I looked like after he went down on me.” I groan, flopping onto the bed.
“He went downtown on you in the restroom?” She yells down the line so loud, I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
