Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(27)

It looks like a country paradise, pure and simple.

After jogging back to the truck, I help her down, and my heart swells when she beams up at me.

“This is so cute.”

“I have my moments.”

Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses my cheek. “Very frequently, it would seem.”

After helping her up onto the tailgate, I grab the wine and two glasses. When I join her in the bed of the truck, I pour us each a cup and then lift my glass up to hers for a toast.

“Here’s to first dates.”

After clinking her cup with mine, she takes a delicate sip, and the rumble in my chest comes unexpectedly as she swallows the wine.

As if on cue, the radio changes, and the first twangs of Jackson Young’s “If It Ain’t Too Much To Ask” drift out across the lake.

After we set our cups down on the edge of the truck bed, her arms wrap around my neck. My palm splays over her lower back as I tuck the sweetness of her body against mine.

“You makin’ it a habit of wooing me with your dancin’ skills, cowboy?” She laughs, and the way it mixes with the song has to be the most heavenly thing I’ve ever heard.

My cheek brushes hers as we dance closer. “That depends.”

“On?” Her breath whispers against my ear.

“If it’s working or not.”

She laughs again, and with God as my witness, I’m a lucky bastard to be holding her right now. “It might be,” she teases.

Her body was made for mine. Pressed together, we’re even more perfect. Strawberry wine dousing our inhibitions in wild desire.

The chorus to the song is coming up, and knowing I don’t suck at least half as much as she does, I sing softly into her ear, albeit still out of tune. She joins me, singing adorably off tune into my ear. “I know it ain’t an easy life, people can tell you that”—She hums along, folding her body closer around mine—“but to ask for a little bit, just a little bit back, If it ain’t too much to ask. .”

“If it ain’t too much to ask,” her voice sings adorably off tune into my ear.

I chuckle, and she reaches down to elbow me in the side before her eyes find mine once again.

“If it ain’t too much to ask, cowboy . . . I could really go for that kiss right about now.” She tries to sing along with the song, but by adding her own words, she fails miserably.

But it’s the thought that counts.

Do I hate that she felt she had to ask for it? Bet your ass I do. Will it stop me from giving her what she wants? Not a chance in hell.

Tipping my invisible cowboy hat towards her with one hand, I put the other in the hair at the base of her neck. “Nothing you ask will ever be too much, London.” With that, I give in to the greatest temptation I’ve ever had and every desire I’ve ever dreamed of.

It’s only with unique restraint that I’m able to keep my lips from fully crashing down onto hers. Instead, I take her softly, certain I’ve died and gone to heaven at the first taste of her. When she whimpers, the greed in me takes the opportunity to slip my tongue into her mouth, claiming all she’ll give me. Her hands pull at the base of my neck, desperate to have me closer as the heat in our kiss grows deeper as the song comes to a close.

After breaking apart, I rest my forehead on hers, running my thumb across her bottom lip. Then I sing the very last line, holding her close.

I kissed the prettiest girl I’ve every laid eyes on while dancing on the tailgate of my truck in the middle of nowhere, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Guaranteed.





“DOES THIS LOOK OKAY?” I ask anxiously.

Flopping over onto her stomach, Aurora rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Yes. That one looks gorgeous. So did the other twelve outfits you put on in the last hour. This is like fashion torture. What gives?”

“I’m meeting his parents.” I scowl at my reflection, pulling at the fabric around my midsection in disgust. “I’m a whale in this.”

Chucking a pillow, which I’m sure was aimed for me but missed by a mile, my sister scoffs. “First off, it’s not even physically possible for you to look like a whale.” She smirks. “You don’t have a tail and you’re a terrible swimmer, so don’t be ridiculous.”

“Smartass.”

“Secondly, his parents aren’t going to care if you wear the mint dress or the red romper or that”—she gestures to the dress I have on—“thing.” After a short pause, she says, “Actually, in better judgment, maybe don’t wear that one. It screams country bumpkin to me.”

After swiveling around, I rest my hand on my hip. “We are country bumpkins, you loon.”

“Nonetheless.” She flops back onto her bed, picking up the magazine she was reading and officially ending the discussion on my floral maxi dress.

It’s been five weeks and countless dates since we met, and although the time as flown by, it all still feels like yesterday. Although the intensity of our relationship only continues to grow, the pace in which the stages of our relationship progresses is slow and steady. We spent the afternoons he was off early washing the horses or sitting out in the pasture while they grazed, our conversation never seeming to lull. At night, we always danced, listened to music, and sometimes saw movies.