“All right, everybody, that’s it! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Cate eyeballed the half-dozen patrons still dotting the dance floor even though Garth Brooks had crooned his last note of the night. Millhaven was a small enough town that last call clocked in at midnight, which might be considered early for the bigger bars and chain restaurants in Camden Valley, but was definitely later than anything else within a twenty-mile radius of The Bar, or any other place in town, for that matter.

Echoing a couple of “goodnight”s, Cate ushered everyone toward the door. “Have you got a ride, Amber?” she asked as the woman teetered on her four-inch boot heels.

“Yes, ma’am!” Amber giggled. “Billy’s gonna drive both me and Mollie Mae home. Isn’t that sweet?”

“As pie,” Cate replied, exhaling in relief. At least the guy had only had two beers all night. As opposed to Amber’s four mango-ritas, which had been three parts ’rita to one part fruity mixer. “Be safe getting home.”

She closed the door after the trio, leaving the bar eerily quiet, save the muffled clink of the glassware Brett was loading into the industrial dishwasher in the kitchen. She had already tidied up and restocked everything behind the bar, as well as run inventory and lined up clean pint glasses and plastic pitchers for whoever was working tomorrow’s shift. Brett had taken mercy and sprung her from the drudgery of putting up the bar stools and mopping the floors, so that left her with only one thing on her agenda.

It was time to take Owen home.

Cate turned toward the spot where he sat at the bar, looking just as infernally sexy as he had when he’d flirted with her an hour ago. “You doing okay over there?” she asked.

A swath of dark hair tumbled over his forehead as he measured her with a glance. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“You don’t have a long-lost twin I don’t know about, do you?”

She lost the battle with her smile. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’m good,” Owen said, recanting a little with, “also, a little drunk.”

Cate nodded. He was a big enough guy, and even though he’d downed most of the ice water she’d poured after he’d finished his last beer, he’d still had his fair share of liquor tonight. He didn’t seem sloppy enough to be full-on wasted, but the flush on his cheeks said all the alcohol had finally soaked in to tag him right in the happy place. “Let’s get you home, then.”

After a quick trip behind the wood to grab her jacket and purse, and another one into the kitchen to say goodnight to Brett and let him know she was leaving, Cate fished out her keys and made her way back around the front of the bar. “Ready?”

“Mmm hmm. Yyyyyep.”

Owen found his feet, clearly taking a second to recalibrate his balance, and Cate stopped halfway across the floor.

“You sure about that?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” he said. But the hand he waved through the air was wobbly enough to prove otherwise.

“Okay.” Cate’s legs were in motion before her brain had fully registered the command to go. Ducking under his shoulder, she threaded her arm around the back of his rib cage, leaning into him until he had no choice but to sling his arm around her for support. “Come on.”

“You really don’t…o-kay, and we’re moving.”

Thankfully, Owen abandoned his protest in favor of falling into step beside her. He leaned in just enough to make her hyper-aware of all the places their bodies touched—the fit of his upper arm over her shoulder blade, the warmth of his rib cage where he pressed against her side, their skin separated by only the too-thin layers of their shirts because her jacket had fallen open when she’d moved to help him. As if the contact wasn’t enough, each tandem step created just enough friction to make Cate’s heart pound. Step, Owen’s thigh on her hip. Step, her jeans brushing his jeans in reply. Step, his palm curving over the top of her bicep, and, oh, God, she should’ve just risked letting him stumble his way to her car.

“Here we go!” she said far too cheerily as they reached her Toyota. She sent up a fervent prayer that it would cooperate, releasing a relieved breath when the engine kicked over on the first attempt. Owen managed to get his seat belt on, and they made the trip to Cross Creek in ten minutes that were both quiet and quick.

“So, I’m not sure where to go from here,” Cate said after pulling off Millhaven’s one central road and onto Cross Creek’s property. She knew Owen and Hunter both lived on different parts of the farm, but she’d never had occasion to go anywhere other than the main house, which stood in the shadowy distance.

“My place is on the west side of the property. So head left at the fork instead of going right, toward the main house.”

It took Cate a second to realize he hadn’t opened his eyes. “Don’t you need to look?” For all he knew, she could’ve passed the fork already. Not that she had, but…

“Nope,” Owen said. “I was born and raised on this farm. Running the place is my legacy. I’d know where I was with my eyes closed.” He seemed to get his own joke after the fact, letting out a laugh before adding, “Turn right up here, after you pass the greenhouse. My house is up a ways, around the curve and on the left.”

Damn, he really wasn’t kidding about that internal compass of his. Cate paused to make the turn by the greenhouse, slowly navigating the pitch-dark path. A pair of tiny lights twinkled up ahead, dimly at first, then growing brighter and warmer as she made her way around a gentle curve in the gravel road. The lights illuminated the porch of a cozy two-story cottage just enough for Cate to see the stone pavers leading up to the porch steps and the beautiful, natural wood exterior that made the place seem more like a cabin than a traditional farm house. A sturdy, oversized rocking chair stood sentry a few feet from the front door, and between that, the wide, wood-and-copper planter boxes gracing the length of the porch railing, and the pretty, lantern-like fixtures casting a golden glow over it all, the house might as well have leapt off the pages of a home and garden magazine.

“Wow,” she whispered, and again, Owen laughed.

“See you found the place.” His eyes fluttered open, and he indulged in a batch of slow blinks before shaking his head. “Just let me figure out what I did with my keys. Ah!”

His victory was short lived as he held up his key ring in one second, then dropped it to the floor of her Toyota in the next. “Damn it,” he muttered. He leaned forward to search for them in the dark, promptly bumping his head against the dashboard and letting out a darker, harsher curse.

“Oh, jeez! Are you okay?” Cate asked, but Owen just sat up and rubbed his forehead.

“Sorry. That wasn’t a very polite thing to say.”

She bit back her surprise, then her smile. Looked like the Owen she knew from the farm wasn’t too far beneath the surface. But that was okay. She pretty much lived above the surface. “Lucky for you, I don’t put a whole lot of stock in sugar-coating things—including the F-bomb. Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Owen located his keys easily enough once Cate opened her door and the dome light clicked on, and she slid her arm under his to guide him up the walkway. He fumbled with the whole key/lock thing, but only for a second before getting both where they belonged and freeing the front door with a turn of his wrist. They got over the threshold without fanfare thanks to the light filtering in from the porch, and, come on, come on, there had to be a—yes! Cate’s hand connected with a light switch on the wall in the foyer a second later.

“Huh. That’s much better. It’s so…light,” Owen said, prompting a laugh to slip past her lips.

“Okay, Casanova. Why don’t I help you with the stairs, here?” The full flight in front of them looked sturdy enough, but was also pure hardwood—pine, if she had to guess—and definitely not something she’d want to climb unattended if she were a little sloshed. Owen seemed to feel the same way, because he let her make the trip beside him, although he managed most of it on his own with deliberate movements and a whole lot of assistance from the railing. That water he’d chugged must be starting to work its magic.

“Which way is your bedroom?” Cate asked, her cheeks prickling hotly when Owen stopped in the center of the hallway to stare at her through the shadows.

“Cate McAllister. Are you flirting with me?”

She opened her mouth. Considered all the words she could send out of the traitorous thing.

Oh, she didn’t want to use it to talk.

Owen tensed visibly, his expression sobering and slipping into panic. “Shit, I’m sorry. That just flew out. I shouldn’t have been so—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She stepped toward him until only half an arm’s length remained, her pulse knocking faster against her throat. “We’re not doing that, remember? You and I have an honesty policy. So, yes.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Now I’m confused.”

Cate laughed. “Yes, I’m flirting with you. But it’s not my fault you’re an adorable drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Owen argued.

“You’re a little drunk,” she argued back, but the step he took toward her was startlingly sure.

“And you are very pretty.”

The sound that left her mouth was more of a sigh than she intended. “Okay. I’m pretty sure that’s the Jack Daniels talking.”

“I mean it, Cate.” Reaching down, Owen grabbed her wrist. Although the move had been far from rough or intimidating, her breath hitched in her chest all the same. How long had it been since a man had touched her? Told her she was pretty and made her feel breathtakingly good, way down deep where it mattered?

How long had it been since any man had looked at her with the sort of hunger that was in Owen Cross’s eyes right now?

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “And the crazy thing is, you don’t even know it.”

The words slid right through her, under her skin and into her veins, and she knew, she knew she needed to say goodnight and get herself back to her car as fast as humanly possible. A man like Owen Cross was serious. Solid. Steady. He wasn’t for her.

She kissed him anyway.

For a fraction of a second, Owen went completely still, his breath coming out in a quick, sharp burst. But Cate reached up to knot her arms around his shoulders—holy God, they were as hard and lean and sexy as they looked—and his shock gave way. Grabbing her hips, he hauled her close, joining their bodies in an abrupt thump and parting her mouth with a single firm press of his own that she didn’t even consider resisting. His tongue darted out to swipe over her bottom lip, the relentless back-and-forth motion making her sensitive skin tingle even as she craved more, and Cate arched into him in an effort to find it. She kissed Owen back with urgency, her tongue tangling with his.

More. She needed more.

The words must’ve slipped from her lust-clouded brain to her mouth, because he responded by tightening his grip on the denim at her hips.

A sound grated up from his chest, proprietary and hot. “You’re not making it easy for me to pace myself, here,” Owen said against her mouth.

She felt the proof in the firm press of his cock on her belly. Wetness gathered between her legs, desperate and greedy and daring her to let him fill the tight space there. “Who said anything about pacing yourself?”

“Cate—”

She interrupted him with a hard slide of her lips. “Owen, please,” she whispered, letting him kiss her deeply, then kissing him back with equal need before he broke from her mouth to look at her.

“Please, what?”

Please, ease this ache inside me. Please, make me feel good, just for tonight.

“Please, take me to bed,” Cate said.

Without another word, Owen turned toward his bedroom.