Page 27 of Forbidden Cowboy

And then the severity of his expression lightened, and Wyatt began telling me all about the different meal options, translating them for me when I was unfamiliar with the lingo.

Archibald’swas very classic in its look—it was filled with round tables set with white tablecloths and candles in hurricane jars as the centerpieces. Low lights twinkled from chandeliers high above our heads, and softly, piano music drifted across the open space.

Despite the fact that the place was booked up every night, there was no sense of urgency, and it never felt too crowded. People kept their voices low, and talked amongst themselves, and the wait staff walked with purpose, but didn’t appear harried. Overall, I felt very pampered just by being in the building.

Our meal was exquisite, and I realized with some sort of dim appreciation that the animal my steak had come from was likely one I had passed in the fields on my daily walks with Anna. It was strange to think that, but also a relief, knowing exactly where my food had come from. Wyatt had been right—the steak definitely tasted better for all the love and care the cows had known over their lives.

Wyatt and I kept up a casual conversation through dinner, and avoided our everyday topics of Anna and Beau. Not because we didn’t love them both fiercely, but because it was nice to escape for just an hour or two and pretend we were just two twenty-somethings having a nice dinner with no responsibilities to go back to.

With a text from Eric Rinaldi confirming that the show had just started as we finished our meal, Wyatt and I vacated our table and moved to the bar. I was already feeling more than a little bit tipsy from the two glasses of wine I had put away, but I gladly accepted a third.

“I’m glad I came back to Gunnison,” I confessed suddenly. “I missed it.”

“I think Gunny missed you too,” Wyatt said, rolling with it. “I know I did.”

“I always thought you wouldn’t,” I replied, knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that my sober self would curse me for outing my own insecurities.

Wyatt appeared to have shed some of his own inhibitions, because one of his warm hands came up to caress my face gently, so gently, and it was like a live wire to my skin. I felt it rippled through me, and I leaned into the touch.

“Of course, I did,” he said quietly. “I was young and I was dumb, but I loved you so much.”

My eyes blinked as I tried to comprehend what he had just said.

“You… loved me?”

“So much,” he nodded, “but I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”

I leaned forward, trying to focus in on his eyes, even with my blood feeling electrified from his own confession. We were breathing the same air, and it hung heavy and thick between us. There was no one else in the room—not the bartender, not the other patrons, no one. Just us. And as I hesitantly closed that gap between us, I felt myself come alive as our lips met.

No one would have seen anything unusual from the outside of the kiss, just a couple sharing a quiet moment of gentle intimacy, but I knew the truth. Between the two of us, galaxies were exploding, whole timelines of ‘what-ifs’ were pouring into the spaces between our lips, and my eyes closed before my heart started leaking in saline tears out of them. One of those hands that had the ability to turn me into a live wire came up to cup the back of my neck, and then he was pulling away from me, despite the same want I had felt from him as we kissed.

“Not here,” he breathed.

Chapter Ten

Wyatt

The ride back to the hotel felt much longer than the ride to the restaurant.

Probably because with one of my hands clasped between Sierra’s two, smaller ones, I was acutely aware that either of us could sober up at any minute and realize what a bad idea this was.

We walked with as much poise as we could through the lobby of the hotel, and then we were alone in the elevator, and we were on each other again. Her hands, small but powerful, threaded through my hair and scratched at my scalp. I groaned at the sensation, and kissed her heavily, pushing her until her back was pressed against the elevator wall. She tasted like cinnamon and sunshine, like she was somehow a piece of home that had come all the way to New York City. I swiped my tongue along her bottom lip, and picked up the barest hint of that wine she had loved so much. The wine she had only tried because she wanted to make me happy.

I would have to remember and get her a bottle for some occasion. Maybe just for the sake of it.

Her breath panted out of her mouth and when I had the chance to look at her face, her eyes were heated, sparkling, and clouded, and not from the alcohol she had consumed. There was wanton lust written across every part of her, and I loved it.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” I rasped in between kisses, and she was immediately on me again, those hands cupping my cheeks this time as she pulled me in closer, as she dragged another groan out of me, and I felt my pants tighten as blood pooled south.

The elevator dinged, and I opened my eyes, expecting us to be at my floor. Instead, we were on the fourth floor, and I separated us quickly with a look at Sierra’s confused face before the doors opened, and an elderly couple, dressed in finery, entered. They nodded politely to us, and Sierra and I nodded back, before the doors closed and they pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

I stayed with my hand holding Sierra’s until the doors opened, and the couple stepped out. We didn’t even have time to start anything again before the doors to the twelfth floor opened, and I dragged the dazed woman whose hand I was holding behind me.

As I was fumbling with the keycard to my door, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

“Anna and Alia want to have a sleepover,” I said as the door finally clicked open.

“Are you going to say yes?” Sierra asked, and there was so much riding on that one sentence.