"Hey," I called, keeping my voice steady, even though my heart beat harder than it should. "Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to ask you something."

There was a pause, long enough to make me wonder if I was crossing a line I couldn't take back. Then Colt's voice came, low and sure, like he knew I'd be standing there. "Come in."

The loft had shifted in ways that were subtle, almost invisible unless you knew what to look for. Colt's boots were lined up by the door, their worn leather catching the last bit of fading light, casting long shadows on the floor. The smell of leather mixed with the earthy scent of the barn, making it his. Above the bed—Mama's old patchwork quilt still draped over it—hung his cowboy hat, its brim bent from years of sun and miles of road. It looked like it had always been there, as if the room had been waiting for him to step into it, to settle in without asking.

The rest of the loft was just as spare. A small dresser stood against one wall, a few shirts and jeans spilling from its half-open drawers, left in that easy way that men like him seemed to do, unbothered by the mess. The kitchenette was equally bare—a couple of chipped mugs, a jar of instant coffee, and a weathered coffee pot sitting on the counter, like it had seen better days but kept going out of pure stubbornness. Everything about the space felt quiet, functional, like it was made to serve a purpose and nothing more. But the simplicity of it suited him, a man who didn't seem to need much.

Then I noticed the bookshelf, tucked into the far corner. It was unexpected, that small stack of worn paperbacks, their spines creased and leaning against one another. The sight of them stirred something in me—a curiosity I hadn't expected. What did a man like Colt, who seemed so rooted in the here and now, find in the pages of those stories? What did he turn to when the weight of the world felt too heavy?

The air felt thicker in the small space, charged in a way that wasn't entirely uncomfortable but wasn't easy, either. My gaze drifted back to Colt. He stood by the sink, towel draped over his shoulder, his back turned as he dried his hair. The muscles in his back rippled with the movement, his skin still damp from the shower. I felt my face flush, heat creeping up my neck, and I suddenly felt out of place, standing there in the doorway, alone in a room with a half-naked man.

"Hey," I managed, my voice sounding quieter than I meant. "I, uh... I was just wondering if you were hungry." My words felt clumsy, like they didn't belong in the charged air between us. "I'm making dinner. It's nothing fancy, just chicken and potatoes, but... you're welcome to join."

Colt turned to me, but he didn't answer right away. He just stood there, watching me, the light catching in his eyes like he saw more than I was ready to admit. He had this way of letting silence stretch, like he didn't mind the weight of it. Most people rush to fill the gaps, to smooth over the quiet with words, but not Colt. He let it linger, let it settle between us like he was comfortable in it.

Finally, he tossed the towel aside, nodding, slow and deliberate. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said, voice as steady as ever. "Haven't eaten much all day."

"Me neither," I replied, my voice softer, betraying the exhaustion that had been creeping into my bones. Something about his presence made the air thicker, not uncomfortable, but charged in a way that left me on edge. I tugged at the bandana around my neck, clearing my throat. "I'll take a quick shower. Meet at the house in twenty?"

Colt's gaze stayed locked on me, unwavering, that same steady calm. "Twenty sounds good."

I nodded and turned to leave, but something tugged at the edge of my vision, pulling me back like an invisible thread. My eyes fell on a small, framed photo resting on the nightstand, barely noticeable in the simplicity of the room. It wasn't the kind of picture meant to draw attention—no grand poses, no staged smiles—just a younger version of Colt, standing beside a horse. But it stopped me cold, like I'd stumbled onto a secret. A small piece of him, tucked away as if it held something too precious to let go.

What had happened to the man in that picture? The one untouched by the heaviness that now seemed to shadow every step he took. It made me wonder what had changed, what had stripped him of that unguarded light I could see so clearly in his eyes.

I tore my gaze away, forcing myself to keep moving, my footsteps heavier as I made my way down the stairs and into the fading light of the barn. But even as I stepped into the cool evening air, that image—Colt, younger, softer—clung to me. It trailed behind, sinking into my thoughts like the dust that seemed to cover everything here.

It was the kind of thing that lodges itself in your mind, no matter how much you try to forget.

Ω

The scalding water hit my back like a slow, burning relief, each drop sinking deeper into my muscles, unraveling the knots tied up from a day that stretched too long. The rodeo lingered on the edges of my thoughts, creeping in like the last rays of a setting sun, but Honey had soared today. Each jump felt cleaner, sharper, more sure. I'd rewarded her with a scoop of oats, something sweet to tell him she'd done more than good. Thinking about her now, under the heavy stream of water, made the heat all the more satisfying, like I'd earned it.

God, it was the kind of shower you melt into. Mama's bathroom always had a way of wrapping around you, pulling you into another world. Bigger than any of the others in the house—hers had always smelled of lavender and honey, soft and sweet. Even now, the faint traces of those scents lingered, like she'd just stepped out moments before. The shelves lined with delicate jars, soaps in soft colors that had long since lost their labels. Towels, thick and plush, waited over the warming rack, folded as if she'd still come in to smooth them over.

Steam curled around me, rising in slow spirals, blurring the edges of the room, of the day, until all that remained was the steady hum of the water and the warmth pressing in. I let my fingers trace along my arms, feeling the grime of the day slip away, my muscles unwinding with every breath. For a moment, I let go of the weight I'd been carrying—the weight of everything—and just sank into the heat.

And then, I felt it. Hands—rough, broad—closing over mine, pressing them against my skin.

My breath caught, the reaction instant, my body tensing before my mind had even caught up. Those hands trailed up my arms, firm, sure, and a mouth found the pulse in my neck, teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt of electricity shooting through me.

I didn't need to turn to know who it was. But I did, slowly, my heart hammering in my chest, my breath tangled up somewhere between disbelief and something deeper, something more dangerous.

Colt.

Water dripped from his tawny hair, clinging to the sharp lines of his jaw, muscles slick under the steady stream, freckled skin gleaming in the dim light of the shower. His grin was easy, lazy almost, but his eyes—those cobalt-blue eyes—were dark, hooded as they roamed over me. He looked at me like he'd been waiting, like he'd known this moment was coming, and my pulse jumped under the weight of that gaze.

"Colt..." His name left my lips in a breathless whisper, barely audible over the water, my mind spinning, caught between the shock of him being here and the unmistakable pull that was already winding itself around me. "What are you doing here?"

Colt's fingers slid up, slow and deliberate, grazing the edge of my jaw as he tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering like he had all the time in the world. His gaze held mine, steady and intense, like he was unraveling me with each second that passed, pulling loose threads I hadn't even realized were there.

"I couldn't stay away," he murmured, his voice low, almost a rumble that vibrated through me. It wasn't rushed, wasn't urgent—just a simple truth. And that truth made something deep inside me tighten, like it had been waiting for those words, even if I didn't want to admit it. His thumb traced the line of my cheek, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned closer, eyes never leaving mine. "I tried."

My pulse thrummed in my ears, louder than the water, louder than reason. "You shouldn't be here," I whispered, though my words wavered, betraying me. My body didn't move. My mind didn't scream at me to pull away. Everything inside me was tangled up in him—this man, this moment, the pull between us that was tightening with every breath."I know," he said, voice soft, a confession that carried no regret. His forehead rested gently against mine, and the warmth of his skin seeped into me, drowning out the space between us. "But tell me to go, Lemon, and I will." His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper now, his breath mingling with mine. "Tell me, and I'm gone."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing into me, testing the walls I'd built. I should have said it. I should have told him to leave, should have stepped back, broken the spell before it wrapped around me too tightly. But the truth was, I didn't want to. I couldn't. Because the way he was looking at me now, like I was the only thing in his world, was enough to make me want to forget everything else—every responsibility, every fear.

"I can't," I whispered, the words barely slipping past my lips. It wasn't permission, wasn't surrender—it was the raw truth of something I hadn't been ready to face. Not until now.

Colt's eyes darkened, his hand sliding down my arm, tracing the line of my waist, pulling me closer until I could feel the solid heat of him pressed against me. His lips brushed mine, soft at first, testing the waters, but when I didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair as he claimed me with a slow, aching intensity.

His lips moved against mine, gentle at first, but then deepening, his hand tangling in my hair, tugging slightly as if he couldn't get enough. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, and with each flick of his tongue, I felt myself unraveling, thread by thread. There was no room for doubt, no room for second thoughts—just the raw pull of him, the undeniable need that surged through me as I kissed him back.

His hands roamed lower, fingers splaying against my stomach before sliding down, lower still. I gasped into his mouth as his touch found me, slick and ready, his fingers teasing in slow, torturous circles that made my knees weak. Every nerve was on fire, my breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as he worked me, his movements deliberate, knowing.

A hum of pleasure vibrated against my lips, his fingers slipping lower, pressing deeper. My body arched against him, hips rolling into his hand as I chased that rising wave, the one building with every stroke, every flick of his wrist. His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the tender skin just as his fingers curled inside me, hitting the spot that sent a shock of pleasure through me so intense it stole my breath.

I clung to him, my hands gripping his shoulders, the muscles taut beneath my fingers as he pushed me closer to the edge. My head fell back, hitting the cool tile with a soft thud, but I barely registered it. All I could feel was him—his fingers inside me, his mouth on my skin, the way he was coaxing me higher, closer to that blinding release.

"God," I breathed, the word slipping past my lips like a prayer as the pleasure coiled tighter, my body trembling under his touch. His hand moved faster, each thrust of his fingers dragging me closer to the brink, until—

Like glass shattering, it broke.

I woke with a start, my chest heaving, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my ribs. The cool air of my bedroom hit my skin, stark against the warmth I'd felt moments ago, and I was suddenly too aware of everything—the tangle of sheets around my legs, the sweat clinging to my body, the aching pulse that hadn't quite faded from between my thighs.

It was only a dream. Just a dream. But it clung to me, more real than it had any right to be. The lingering heat of Colt's touch, the press of his lips, the way his eyes had darkened as he claimed me—it all felt too vivid, too close. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady the wild beat of my heart, but the echo of him remained, curling around me like the steam that had clouded Mama's bathroom.

I closed my eyes, exhaling shakily, but all I saw was him—those cobalt-blue eyes, the rough edge of his voice, the way my name had sounded on his lips.

"Get a grip, Lemon," I whispered to myself, but the words rang hollow in the stillness of the room.

I rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, but sleep wouldn't come. It never did after dreams like that—dreams where everything felt too real, where every touch lingered long after it should have faded. I stared at the ceiling, the ache in my chest deepening as the silence settled back over the room.

Colt had always been a storm on the horizon, something dark and inevitable, a pull I couldn't seem to shake no matter how hard I tried. And now, after this—after the dream that had left me breathless, aching—I knew one thing for certain.

I was in trouble.

The kind of trouble you don't wake up from.