Page 64 of Cash

Not gonna lie, being spoken for like that—protected—was hot as hell. Guys back in Dallas are sexy in their own way, but they’re never territorial.

They never speak so plainly or act so quickly.

They also don’t dance the way Cash is dancing.

Despite all that, I can’t touch this cowboy with a ten-foot pole. I’m realizing just how important it is to establish a solid working relationship with him and his brothers. I feel like Dad and I let each other down on so many things.

I’m not going to let him down again by doing something stupid with the guy who runs our family’s ranch.

Even if that guy is turning out to be a decent human being.

A decent, thoughtful, incredibly sexy human being who can wobble with the best of them.

On any other night at any other bar, I’d be taking him home.

Tonight, the only thing I can do is take him to task on the dance floor.

We dance, and we laugh, the bar a blur as we move. Cash keeps tabs on me during every song, not so much as glancing at other people.

I never ever want to stop.

But I finally hit a wall when Frisky Whiskey moves into another slow song. My feet throb. My eyes burn, knees and back on fire.

I’m suddenly so tired, I could fall asleep standing up.

Cash must notice, because he puts a hand on my back. “Ready to get outta here?”

“I’m beat.” I glance around the bar. “Shoot, where did Wyatt go? He’s my ride home.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

I arch a brow at Cash. We’ve been too busy dancing to drink much—two beers each, the last one finished several songs ago—so I know he’s okay to drive.

I just don’t know if I’m okay to drive with him. Just the thought of riding shotgun beside Cash already has me thinking about a different kind of riding.

The naked kind.

I’ve enjoyed more than a few back-seat make-out sessions in my day. But making out with a cowboy like Cash in the back of his pickup? Those big hands roving slowly over every inch of my body?

That’d take the experience to a whole new level.

I wish I could ignore the tight, buzzy energy between us. I wish I could stop leaning into it. But it just feels too damn good to be touched this way.

I’m just having too much fun.

Even now, sparks erupt inside my skin from the place where his fingers find the gap between my top and skirt onmy back. There’s no chance we’ll actually get naked together. But the idea of it—the tease—there’s something to be said for that kind of anticipation.

Hooking up with Palmer is very straightforward. There’s no buildup. No flirtation. Just a knock on the door and then, well, we get to it. Sometimes, we’ll have a glass of wine beforehand, but I always, always know how it’s going to end.

Honestly, that’s why our situationship works so well. I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to play guessing games. But being out with Cash makes me realize just how sterile my interactions with Palmer are. The sex is fine, sure.

Bet the sex with Cash would be better.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “So you can dispose of my body on the side of the road?”

Cash grins. My pulse skips. “That’d be plain stupid. I’d feed you to the cows, obviously.”

“Obviously.”