When I finally stopped a few feet away, I became painfully aware of how I must look—jeans Hattie had bullied me into, plain tee, hair in a messy knot that had been far cuter when I first left the inn. I probably had dust on my face and kettle corn salt on my fingers.
He looked…like he did on that bull. Contained violence wrapped in a denim-clad, godlike body. Plus there was the fact that I knew what he looked like under that shirt now and that wasn’t helping me at all.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly, because my brain had abandoned me.
“Hi,” he echoed. The word came out husky, the scrape of it over my skin making something inside me shiver.
We stood there in the mess of people, this tight little silence stretching between us.
“Nice ride,” I finally blurted, then immediately wanted to fling mys
