Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(145)

will snap you in the crotch with this dishtowel.”


He put his hands up and looked at the towel twisted in her hands. “Fine. Sorry. But we

will talk about it later.”


It was telling how comfortable they’d gotten with each other that no awkwardness

lingered even after that exchange. She told him a few funny stores from her vagabond

childhood. He told her about being raised with his McKay cousins. It was weirdly like

they were on a first date. It was…nice. Normal. Relaxing.


Ben peered through the clear lid on the skillet. “That’s it? Two big cans of

condensed vegetable beef soup, a cup of cream and plop a can of biscuits on top?”


“That’s it.” A tickle started in her nose and she reached for a tissue. She sneezed.

Loudly. Three times in a row. “Maybe I’ll lay off the pepper next time.” She

sniffled. “I forgot to ask if you wanted a beer.”


“Didn’t think you were a beer drinker.”


“I’m not. I bought it for you last week, in case you ever dropped over.”


He offered her a deeply dimpled smile. “I’ll drop over more often.”


Yes, please. And oddly enough, him cuffing her and ravishing her until she came

screaming wasn’t the first scene that popped into her head.


And what does that say? That you’d be happy to have a dating-type relationship with

this man?


Could they try it? She shot him a look from beneath lowered lashes. He’d said he’d be

interested in dropping over for a beer. They’d cooked together. Watched TV together.

They’d done…normal stuff. He’d asked where this relationship could go after their

official loan business was behind them. He’d even backed off when she’d become more

aggressive than usual. Could that be his way of hinting he wanted to try a plain old

regular relationship with her but didn’t know how to go about it? Could they start

simple? Start over?


That might work. She’d broach the subject and see how he responded.


After they’d eaten, she said, “So I’m thinking that we could be…friends.”


“Friends?” he repeated like it was some sort of disease.


“Sure. You have friends, don’t you?”


“Define friends.”


“You could come over here for dinner. I could go over to your place. We could kick

back. Shoot some pool.” Crap. She shouldn’t have tossed that last one in. His

expression was a heated reminder of how they’d used his pool table the last time.


“You haven’t said anything.”


“Because I don’t know what the f*ck to say to that.”


The dryer buzzed.


Ainsley got his shirt and helped him put it on. She automatically started buttoning him

up, like she’d often done. Something about redressing him was almost more intimate

than undressing him. She focused on smoothing wrinkles from the cotton as an excuse not

to look into his compelling eyes as she touched him. Even when she wasn’t supposed to

be touching him.


Command me to stop, Bennett. It’s always been your job to set the physical parameters

between us.


When she finished buttoning, Ben pressed her hand against his chest. Right beneath his