That spurred Harper to answer, “Ah, no, it’s okay. I’m fine. Just having a devil of a time getting this”—she pushed her hips back into Bran’s pelvis—“thing off me. It’s a tight fit.”

Bran murmured, “It is a tight fit,” and bumped his hips forward into her again. “Really tight. Perfectly tight.”

“Did you say something?” the girl demanded.

“No. I’ll be out in a second.” Using the mirror, Harper pushed herself upright, intending to dislodge Bran from her body.

But he held her in place and let his hands skate up her torso, cupping her br**sts. She watched his slow, sensual movements reflecting back to her. He acted as if he had all the time in the world to touch her, which spoke volumes about the type of man he was. He would not be rushed. He would not be bullied. His breath was hot in her ear. “I wanna f**k you like this again.”

“Now?” she whispered.

“Would you say yes?”

She nodded her head yes even as she mouthed, No.

He laughed softly.

When she turned, he kissed her in an openmouthed duel of sliding tongues and lips.

As he pressed a moist kiss to the cup of her shoulder, he pulled out. Although he’d only untucked his shirt and dropped his pants for their encounter, he helped her put her clothes back on. Bran’s idea of help was stealing kisses, copping a feel, generally making a nuisance of himself. But Harper didn’t mind a bit.

Once she was as presentable as she could make herself, she was half tempted to tell Bran to sneak out first.

Why? You aren’t ashamed, are you?

No. Heck, Harper was proud that she’d brought out such a primitive need in a man like Bran Turner, who prided himself on total control. She opened the door and walked out of the dressing room in front of him.

The salesgirl looked at them. Suspiciously. Knowingly.

Harper smiled and handed the girl the skirt. “You know, I don’t believe I need this today. Thank you.”

She looped her arm through Bran’s and they didn’t stop laughing until they reached his truck.

Chapter Nineteen

“You promised you’d feed me. Steak, if I recall.”

Bran started his truck and looked at her. Damn. He liked that Harper sat right next to him on the bench seat. He really liked the shine in her eyes and the soft set of her mouth. He fastened his lips to hers, taking the lazy, slow kiss he wanted. When she started to inch her hand up his leg, he broke the kiss with a smile. “Food first. How about the Cattleman’s Club?”

“Sure. I’ve driven by a bunch of times, but I’ve never eaten there.”

“They’ve got decent steaks. Cheap beer. Good music.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.”

After Bran parked and helped her out of the truck, he kept hold of her hand as he led her inside. The joint was hopping, but he didn’t recognize anybody—mostly because he couldn’t look away from his beautiful date. The hostess showed them to a booth up front by the stage and dance floor. When Harper tried to sit across from him, he nudged her into the booth and scooted right next to her.

“What can I getcha to drink?” the waitress asked.

“She’ll have a Jack and Coke, and I’ll have a Bud Light.”

Harper turned toward him after the server left. “You’ve got a funny look on your face. What are you thinking about?”

“Miniskirts. Specifically, about the time you and Celia came along with us to Cactus Jack’s. You wore that faded-jeans skirt that made your legs look a mile long. Did you hear the collective male groans every time you angled across the pool table to take a shot?”

Harper blushed. “No. I don’t know what possessed me to wear that skirt. I’ve not worn anything that short since.”

“I know. Why do you think I was so gung ho for you to try on that miniskirt in Runnings?”

“Because you wanted to nail me in front of a three-way mirror and see if you could make me scream?”

He grinned. “That too. But damn, I really love the way your ass and legs look in them short skirts.”

She blushed harder, if possible. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I would have had to’ve been blind and dead from the waist down not to’ve noticed you.” Not to have wanted you. Fantasized about flipping up that sassy little skirt and bending you right over the pool table.

“Such a sweet talker.”

He focused on the menu. “Any idea what you’re havin’?”

“The petite sirloin, hash browns, and a salad with blue cheese dressing.”

“Sounds good. Except a small sirloin is just gonna piss me off.”

She laughed.

The waitress dropped off their drinks and took their order. Bran lifted his bottle to Harper’s glass. “To miniskirts.”

“And your sudden need for leather gloves.” She clinked her glass to his and drank.

Silence descended. And lingered.

Why?

Because this felt like a date.

Shit. Was he supposed to exhibit datelike behavior? Ask about her interests? Movies she’d seen? Places she’d been?

No. This was Harper. His Harper. They were beyond typical date behavior. He’d seen her covered in manure. He’d seen her wearing nothing at all. He’d seen her angry and aroused and determined and exhausted. He knew her, dammit. Straight down to the bone. They were beyond this trivial stuff.

Yes—he knew her because he was head over heels in love with her.