As the pilot announces our descent into Jackson Hole, she settles back to take in the Teton Range through the window.
This weekend will test what we've got. I can feel it in my bones; the same way I can feel a bull's mood shifting in the chute. Maybe if she can handle the whole mess, we'll be even stronger for it.
The landing is smooth, and before I know it, we're stepping off the plane and riding in the back of an SUV limo down Main Street.
The Hotel Jackson rises from the town center like something out of a Western —rustic timber and stone that manages to whisper luxury without shouting about it. The lobby soars three stories high, with a stone fireplace you could park a truck in and enough antler chandeliers to outfit half of Wyoming.
"Halloway," I tell the desk clerk, sliding my card across the marble counter. "The Teton Suite and the adjoining Mountain View."
Kinsley's eyebrows go up a notch, but she doesn't say anything. Just as well, because trying to explain that I got her own room so she wouldn't think I was expecting something would sound awkward no matter how I put it. And I sure ain't telling her that my sponsor covered one room, but I paid to upgrade us both to suites because I figured she'd want a real bathtub after the flight. That'd come out all wrong too.
“I love cowboy clothes,” a woman squeals. Her voice echoes off the glass and stone and the whole lobby turns to look as a group of buckle bunnies enter the lobby.
A bellhop pushes two racks full of shopping bags behind them. Brittney’s at the front of the crew, scrolling on her phone as they cross the lobby.
I grit my teeth. I’m ticked that Brittney posted that picture and I’m still not sure how she got it. I’m mad that I put myself in a position where she could get that close and seeing her brings that all to the surface. I turn back to the desk clerk.
"Your bags have already been sent up,” he says with the kind of smile that comes standard with four-star service. “And here are your keys.” He slides the keycards across the counter.
Brittney and her friends disappear into the elevator.
Kinsley touches my arm. I glance at her. She had to have seen Brittney. She smiles at me and the fist in my chest loosens. “Ready?” I ask.
She nods.
“We’ll meet up with you later,” I tell Jake and Maddison who are waiting to check into their rooms.
The elevator whisks us to the top floor, and I walk Kinsley to her door, my hand finding the small of her back.
"Dinner's at seven," I tell her, checking my watch. "That gives you about two hours to get ready."
"Two hours?" She looks genuinely puzzled. "How long does it take to put on a dress?"
I grin, thinking about the women I've dated who needed half a day to get ready for lunch. "Well, I had Hailey send over some of that fancy bath stuff women like. Should be waiting in your room."
Her jaw drops. "You did that for me?"
I grab the top of the doorway and lean in, enjoying the way her breath catches as I crowd her space. I’m doing my best to be a gentleman, but her very existence is a temptation to cross that line.
"Sure did. Go soak, do whatever it is you do." I check my watch like I'm timing something important. "I'll be back at six-forty."
My suite is all leather and exposed beams, with windows that frame the Tetons like artwork. I barely notice the view—I'm too busy trying not to think about Kinsley in the room next door.
Nineteen
I'M DONE SHARING HER WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD.
WYATT
The moment Kinsley opens the door; I stop thinking about sponsors and start wondering how a man’s supposed to keep his distance from temptation so sweet.
She's wearing a navy-blue dress that hits mid-thigh, with silver embroidery that catches the light when she moves. Her hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder, and she's got on heeled boots that make her legs look like they go on for miles.
Her gaze travels over my charcoal suit jacket and the championship buckle at my waist. "You clean up nice, cowboy."
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" The words come out as a growl. "Looking like that."
Color rises in her cheeks, but her smile turns wicked. "Is it working?"