Page 31 of Fall or Nothing

“Fun?” I cleared my throat. I fought off astiff cock as it was, right here in this cramped space together, with her cleavage beckoning me. “And you think we could have fun and not let it turn into anything else?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded, half-convincingly.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt when I leave.”

She cocked her head and chuckled. “You’re so sure I’d be the one?Youcould be the one hurting when you leave.”

True. So fucking true. I doubted I’d miss the ranch, or the horses, or any of the guys. But Sage could truly be missed. Could I handle getting involved with her with no feelings getting in the way?

“In fact, we could start having a little fun right now,” she urged, wiggling her brows.

“What? Here?”

“We’re stuck for the foreseeable future. Anything come to mind?”

That was a very loaded question. I scratched the back of my neck and eyed the desk in the corner that could be an adequate place to lay her down. “Jeez, things move fast for small-town girls,” I blurted, mostly joking.

“The two-step, Carter. I was talking about teaching you the two-step.”

“Ah. Perfect. My mind absolutely wasnotin the gutter.” I winked, relief washing over me.

“Yes, it was. But I have a rule about cowboys. I don’t make it easy for them to get into my pants.”

I arched a brow. “Is that a challenge?”

She shrugged her shoulders with a sultry smile and untied her apron, setting it aside.

Fuck me. Another challenge. First, one from Dad for all the money or nothing. Now, one from Sage—for all of heror nothing. My eyes fell to the button of her jeans. Of course, I wasn’t exactly a genuine cowboy, but that was beside the point. If she were someone I’d met back in New York, how fast would it take me to get into her pants?

Hell, who was I kidding? The old me might not have even noticed her—and that right there was a damn shame.

“Here we go. Lead hand here,” she instructed, and grabbed my right hand, pulling me closer. My palm landed on warm, bare skin where her shirt had a cutout. The contact sent a spark straight through me.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she said, her voice husky.

No. I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you.

“Is something wrong?” She fluttered her lashes again, setting her hand on my shoulder.

“The band is a little loud for my taste,” I commented wryly.

“They make appearances here a few times a year. Good old boys. Other hand here in the air.” Hers folded around mine, setting off sparks. But I was chill now, taking it all in stride. Until I realized her chest brushed mine with every move. I lost the battle with my eyes, glued to the soft swell of her breasts. I hardly heard her next instructions.

“The steps go like this: quick-quick-slow-slow. Start with your left foot. Don’t overthink it. You lead me around the room counterclockwise. While you’re stepping forward, I’ll be stepping back.”

So much to remember. I stepped forward and landed squarely on her foot.

She winced.

“Sorry. I know the foxtrot. Never said I was good at it.”

She laughed, and it got away from her. “You’re thinking too hard.”

I was thinking aboutnotgetting hard, what with everywhere we touched, and her breasts in the tight white shirt, and none of that was helping—except making it all too easy to forget leaving this town behind.

“Think about something else,” she suggested.

Not possible.