I watched open-mouthed as the landscape changed. I’d been blown away by Arizona with its vivid orange rock and sweltering heat, so different to Lakovia. But Texas was different again. Texas was huge, rolling plains and a sky so big it took my breath away. We drove all day and I watched the odometer count up: miles and then tens of miles and then hundreds of miles and we were still in Texas. Lakovia is not a big country. My whole sense of scale was being redefined. Even Garrett probably seems small in this place.

I stole a quick glance at him. No. Not even Texas could make him seem small. But he did fit here, more than he had even in California or Arizona. This was his home.

My quick glance was turning into a stare. I knew that behind me, Emerik would be scowling at my obsession. But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t tear my eyes from that jawline and those hard lips. My own lips tingled from the imagined feel of brushing his and the feeling spread, kisses tracing over my chin and down my neck. I felt his breath hot on my skin and his stubble scraping against me. Felt the softness of his hair as it twisted between my fingers and the hot shock of his tongue on my nipple—

I was becoming addicted to him. It was more than just the physical. It was having seen how far he’d go to protect me. I’d been guarded my entire life, but no man had ever made me feel safe like this. And it was the way I felt every time I was close to him. Bring us within six feet and there was this...craving I felt down the whole of my body, a need to be pressed up against him, to have his arms around me.

It made no sense. I was meant to be soft and graceful and refined and I’d always assumed that the man I’d fall for, when it happened, would be similar: I imagined him slender and quick, a man who wore an immaculate suit and knew how to dance. But my soul-deep yearning was for the exact opposite: for thick, sculpted forearms that crushed me to a hard chest, for a stubbled chin that rested against the top of my head, for thighs and ass that were all about brute power. I was soft but I wanted grit. I was pure, but I wanted—I flushed—to be pinned and spread by that muscled body.

I pressed my thighs hard together looked away. But as soon as my eyes left him, I could feel his eyes on me. Gliding down over my cheek, my neck. Over the thin cotton vest top I’d stripped down to, caressing my bare shoulders, smoothing over my breasts as if with big, warm palms. I actually felt my nipples pucker and tighten. Being this close was torture.

I forced myself to focus on the landscape. He was right: the sunsets here were amazing. The sinking sun turned the clouds from gold to amber to deep, boiling red, until it looked as if the sky was lit by glowing coals. Just then, I saw my first enormous herd of cattle in the distance, and got my first glimpse of cowboys on horses herding them, just tiny silhouettes against the glow of the sun. I drew in my breath and watched, transfixed. I tried to imagine their lives: riding under that massive sky, the quiet around them, the solitude. Compared to the bustle of the palace and the city—“They look so... free,” I breathed. Then I blushed. “That probably sounds really stupid.”

I heard the jingle of his dog tags as he shook his head. That deep rumble, gentle and sincere. “Nope. Don’t sound stupid at all.”

When we turned off the highway, I felt his mood start to change. Those powerful shoulders rose with tension and his whole body hunched over the steering wheel. What was it about this place that freaked him out? Wasn’t this his home?

We turned into a long driveway, rounded a corner screened by trees and suddenly screeched to a stop. Everyone oofed against their seatbelts. The hood of the pickup was an inch from a closed gate.

Garrett got out, opened the gate and climbed back in. “Sorry,” he muttered as we drove through. “That wasn’t there, last time I was here.”

“How long has it been?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment. “Two years.”

A farmhouse came into view ahead, old but still beautiful, with walls the color of buttermilk and an eggshell-blue roof. A man was walking towards us across the grass, thick curls of white hair visible under his Stetson. At first, he wore a frown. Then, as he saw Garrett, his eyes widened.

Garrett pulled up and switched off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He climbed out and walked slowly towards the older man.

I leaned forward, entranced. The man was just as tall as Garrett, his body loaded with muscle despite his age, and he still had that ramrod-straight, military posture. He had the same heavy jaw and hard cheekbones as his son, but his skin was weathered by a life outdoors and crinkled by smile lines. I’m getting a look at what Garrett will look like, when we grow old together. And it was good.

Then I realized what I was thinking and crushed those thoughts down inside. Stupid! My only future was back in Lakovia. I’d be back there within days... or I wouldn’t live that long.

As the two men drew closer, Garrett walked slower and slower, almost trailing the toes of his boots on the ground like a reluctant child. That fear had reached its peak: this is what he was scared of.

“Hi Dad,” he grunted.