Bouquets and Buckles: An Age Gap, Snowed In, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge)
Bouquets and Buckles: Chapter 8

My tits and ass are literally hanging out, and I’m pouring my best friend’s dad a whiskey.

Meanwhile, I’ve already knocked back a generous pour, the burn sliding a long trail straight down to my belly.

I don’t know what the fuck to think, or feel. Right now, I’m entirely messed up because I could have sworn Lucas Rhodes—Luke—stared at me while I was on the phone to his son with something dangerously similar to desire in his eyes.

Then he offered to take my coat for me, and there was no denying the heat twisting and turning between us when he hovered at my back.

Am I reading into every little detail? Maybe.

Am I feeling reckless enough to see what this outfit might strike a match and set fire to? Absolutely.

Why not allow myself the chance to reach out and sample a taste of the forbidden? It is Christmas, after all. We’re snowed in together here. As soon as I can get a new tire fitted, as soon as the roads clear, I’m going back home and really have no reason to come back to Crimson Ridge again for the foreseeable future.

Brad doesn’t need to know.

I’m in the mood to be a whole lot irresponsible, and the cowboy I’m stuck in this house with is the kind of temptation a girl like me has thought about too many times over the years.

He’s never once been inappropriate or ever acted in a way with me that might have blurred lines. Always being the perfect gentleman, driving any of us home late at night if we ever needed a ride. Always making sure we had his cell number in case of an emergency.

Lucas Rhodes is one heck of a good man, an excellent father, and has always supported Brad.

The cowboy I’ve swooned over in secret for years has always been the kind of distant daydream. The fantasy riding in on horseback, I’ve only ever laid in bed at night and drifted off thinking wicked thoughts about. The forbidden temptation dressed in jeans that should be illegal and with a charcoal color hat that makes my knees go weak.

And hell, if it doesn’t make it even hotter that now we’re both here in a moment when life has turned on its head, and I’m here in this house as a fully consenting adult who most definitely would like to loosen his buckle and worship this man’s dick, if he’ll let me.

Bracing myself against the wooden top of the central island, I look down at my tits. The girls are fully on display, rounded, and threatening to spill over the top of the black harness bra I treated myself to as an early Christmas lingerie purchase. My sheer cropped top is nothing but a flashing neon sign directing attention towards my cleavage.

Little did I know the first man who would see the magical powers of silky fabric and lace would be nearly twice my age. A rugged cowboy who shouldn’t know how fabulous my tits look in this outfit, but holy fuck, do I want him to.

I’ve never been this person.

I’ve never dared to act like this before.

So maybe the snow and the chaos of emotions running rampant through my veins, along with that shot of whiskey, maybe that’s what gives me the courage to do the thing I would never normally think of doing in a million years.

As I hear heavy footsteps coming down the steps, I grab the bottle and two glasses, scooting around to the side of the extremely manly, chunky dining table facing the entranceway. Pushing one of the chairs slightly aside, I hoist myself up and plonk my ass on the wooden slab.

My stomach fills with butterflies as his heavy footfall reaches the last stair.

Something has been hanging in the air tonight, like the snowflakes drifting outside the kitchen windows. Something a teeny bit magical, that sizzles with potential, and if I didn’t know any better, might just be the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I’ll be able to dream about for years to come.

If there’s one thing I’m going to do to get over the turmoil of tonight, it’s shoot my shot.