Chapter 38

• The Lawson barn was hush except for the soft tick of metal on metal — Beau’s big shoulders hunched under the half-busted tractor hood, sweat rollin’ down the dip of his spine where his old tee clung like a second skin. He should’ve left it. Should’ve waited ‘til morning when the sun’d burn off the chill and he wouldn’t be fightin’ rust with half a mind stuck on her sweet mouth and that soft laugh that ruined him all damn day.
• But here he was — boots planted in the straw, wrench clankin’ low, brows drawn tight while his brain replayed the soft sound of her moanin’ around him in that bakery back room, the little giggle when she swallowed him down like a secret she’d keep ‘til her last breath.
• He didn’t hear her at first — too lost in it, too gone on the taste of her. But then the barn door creaked soft — that slow slide of old hinges givin’ up her secret when she stepped inside, barefoot, hair wild, one of his old shirts drownin’ her curves but not hidin’ a damn thing.