A hard, short snort escaped, frustration and anger kicking in. She wasn’t willing to love him, to let him love her, but she wanted him. And, dammit, he ached for her. To be close to her. To touch her. He’d take what he could get. “I know you want me to kiss you.”
She was still staring at his mouth, her cheeks flushing. “I’ll get over it.”
It hurt to breathe. “And I want to kiss you.” He cradled her cheek.
Her eyes met his, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she leaned into his palm. “This is the last time—”
He pressed her against the wall, hands cradling her face as his mouth lowered to hers. It was a long and slow kiss, his lips sealing with hers and breathing her in—searing her scent and taste and feel into his fingertips and tongue.
She clung, swaying into him as her arms wound around his neck and her fingers slid through his hair. Her hunger rolled over him, giving him permission to deepen the kiss for a moment longer. Didn’t she feel this? Know that this wasn’t just attraction but something more. Something real.
With a groan, he tore his mouth from hers and stared down at her. How he managed to let her go, to step back, and have the icy void slide between them, he didn’t know. But he had to leave before he said or did something he’d regret. “You might get over wanting this. I’m not so sure I will.”
He could have stayed there, lost in her blue eyes—hoping she’d change her mind. But loving her meant wanting her happiness and that meant leaving. Every step away from her was a struggle.
Chapter 13
“Next we have the Stonewall Crossing Trail Riders.” Quinton Sheehan spoke into the microphone.
“This group will be making a trip to the Rocky Mountains this summer for a competitive trail riding competition,” Lola chimed in. “They’re looking for sponsors to make this trip a reality.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Quinton nudged Renata, hard. “Tell us how the fine folk can help?”
Renata blinked. “Right.” She stared at the words on the white index card. “It says here that each horse has two battery packs wired into the wreath it’s wearing.”
Lola and Quinton were staring at her.
“Pregnancy brain,” he whispered.
Lola chuckled.
She ignored them. “And...did you know braiding a mane can take a couple of hours?”
Quinton spoke into his mic. “Why, no, Renata, I didn’t know that.”
Lola covered her microphone. “He asked about sponsorship information, sweetie.”
Renata forced a smile. “If you’re interested in sponsoring this wonderful group of young people, touch base with George Rios or Monica Castillo.” She read off the rest of the card and eyed the remaining stack of cards. The parade had barely started and she was already wishing it was over.
So far, her co-commentators had landed a good dozen pregnancy and/or engagement digs, and they’d only been sitting on the stage for forty minutes.
“Let’s all give this fine group a wave.” Lola spoke. “Oh my, next up is Dr. Farriday’s Christmas float. Look at that.”
Renata glanced up. There, pulled behind a diesel pickup, was Dr. Farriday’s float. A massive baby cradle made of papier-mâché, pink and blue streamers, and lights rocked—yes, rocked—on the flatbed trailer where it rested.
“Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” Lola asked, reaching over Quinton to pat her arm. “This time next year, you’ll be rocking your own cradles, Renata.”
There were more than a few laughs from the crowd.
“Two cradles,” Quinton sounded off. “You’ll have your hands full.”
Renata cut them off, reading the neatly printed information off the card she held.
“Dr. Farriday and her staff wish you all a very happy and healthy holiday,” Quinton added. “And we want to thank her for being one of tonight’s sponsors.”
“Next up, we have a team from Boone Lodge pulling a festive hayride,” Lola said, waving.
A hayride she wished she was a part of.