The next morning, Savannah woke late. The sun was already high, casting heat across the ranch house. She rolled out of bed with sore thighs and a wicked ache still lingering between them.
She dressed quickly—tight jeans, a knotted plaid shirt that left just enough midriff showing. Her hair was a mess of waves. She didn't care.
She found Jace in the barn, feeding the horses.
He looked up when she entered, and for a full second, time paused. His eyes dropped to her hips, her chest, then snapped back to her face.
"What are you wearin'?" he asked gruffly.
She smiled. "Clothes. You know, like normal people."
Jace tossed hay into a stall harder than necessary. "Go put on something decent."
"Why?" she teased, stepping closer. "You can't concentrate?"
His jaw clenched. "Because this is a ranch, not a damn runway."
She stopped in front of him, tilting her head. "You want me to be invisible, Jace? After what happened in the kitchen? After what I heard last night?"
He went still. "You were listening?"
"You weren't exactly quiet."
He cursed and dropped the pitchfork.
Savannah stepped closer, voice dropping. "Were you thinking about me?"
He said nothing.
Her fingers brushed his belt. "I was thinking about you."
He caught her wrist, rough but not cruel. His eyes burned into hers.
"This is gonna get real bad if we keep goin', Savannah."
"Then stop me."
He didn't.
They kissed again—hotter, hungrier. This time, Jace pressed her against the barn wall, mouth claiming hers with desperation. His hands gripped her ass, hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
"You're playin' with somethin' dangerous," he growled, lips brushing her neck.
"I like danger," she gasped.
He didn't hold back. Not this time. He took her against the barn wall, rough and fast, moans muffled by his shoulder.
And when it was over, when they stood there breathing hard, tangled in each other, Jace whispered the one thing he hadn't meant to say out loud.
"This can't happen again."
But she knew better.
It would.