“I regretted it the instant I understood it hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know.” She swallowed hard. “And I regret I’m wearing this slutty outfit. I regret it to the point I haven’t taken my damn coat off since I got here.”

Kyle’s eyes searched hers. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the only man I want seeing what I’ve got on.”

“So let me get this straight. You feel guilty about the way you dressed. Guilty enough to tell me about it, but not guilty enough to let me see what you’re wearin’?”

She nodded vigorously. “So can we please go home?”

“No. Show me.” His tone brooked zero arguing.

Celia peered over his shoulder to check if anyone was watching. Then she whipped open the coat in a fast movement that would’ve made a flasher proud. “There. You saw it. Now can we go?”

He loomed over her. “Take. Off. The. Coat.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

A rebellious expression tightened her face. But he saw it for what it really was. Fear.

This was the perfect opportunity to begin showing her he was proud to have her on his arm, proud that she was his woman, his lover, his wife. That he wanted her to be his wife for a helluva lot longer than six lousy months. He wanted her forever.

Kyle stroked the underside of that stubborn jaw with the rough texture of his glove. “Maybe I want everyone in Buckeye Joe’s lookin’ at you thinkin’, damn, when did Celia Lawson become sex on legs? Maybe I want the men in the bar to eat their goddamn hearts out because all this”—his gaze traveled from her eyes to her boot tips—“is all mine.”

She bit her lip. “You haven’t even seen the outfit yet.”

“I don’t need to. I’m sure you look fantastic.”

Celia’s eyes softened. “Given our history, I’ll admit I’m itching to see wow in your eyes.”

“So take off the damn coat before I rip it off with my teeth.”

She pulled the coat open and yanked it off.

Holy f**king shit. Celia hadn’t been kidding about being decked out in a sexy-ass getup. He’d always admired her sexy legs. In the past month he’d paid homage to them with his hands and mouth. But he’d never seen her in a short skirt that showed so much of those mile-long legs.

He finally managed to pull his gaze away from the funky buckskin skirt and he let it travel upward. She wore a matching buckskin halter that dipped low enough in front he might’ve caught a glimpse of nipple.

He imagined her riding her horse, bareback. With those golden locks flowing in the wind behind her, looking so beautiful and free.

“Turn around.” Christ. There was no back to the shirt, except for flimsy leather straps that crisscrossed her muscled back. And if she bent over she’d give everyone a peek at that sweet pink flesh between her thighs.

Not happening. Ever. She was his, goddammit. Only his.

Kyle went from mildly amused to caveman possessive in three seconds. But he had the urge to show her off. Wrapping her braid around his palm, he tugged her gently until her back met his front. He nuzzled her ear. “Kitten, you are a walking wet dream.”

She rubbed her cheek against his in a very catlike move.

He spun her around and made certain she saw the pure male appreciation in his eyes before he consumed her mouth in a blistering kiss. He didn’t give a damn that they were in a crowded bar. He wanted her to feed on his lust.

His sweet, sexy Celia held nothing back.

He slowed the kiss. Sweetened it. But it still held that edge of need. He whispered, “Dance with me.”

“But, Kyle, you don’t—”

“Not a request, little wife of mine. You are dancin’ with me. Now.” He tossed their coats over the back of the chair and clasped her hand in his. As they snaked through the tables, he nodded to several people he knew, but didn’t stop to chat. He stopped right on the edge of the dance floor, hauling her close.

“Umm, Kyle, this is an up-tempo song and I think we’re supposed to be two-stepping.”

“The good thing about bein’ a bad dancer? Ignoring all them pesky rules about how I’m supposed to be dancin’.” He murmured, “Besides, the only person who’s gonna see that fringe flapping tonight is me.”

“And how do you intend to make it flap if you’re not spinning me on the dance floor?”

“When I slide this skirt over your sassy ass and pound into you from behind.”

A gleam of interest brightened her eyes.

“Can you feel how hard I am?”

“It’s hard to miss. For me and everybody else.”

He laughed. “Don’t be haughty with me. Ain’t that the reaction you wanted? Me so hard I can’t see straight?”

She pressed a kiss on his neck. “Yes. I like the way you look at me, Kyle. No man has ever looked at me that way. I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s okay. But I do have one question. Are the rest of the clothes you bought sexy, like this?”

She shrugged. “They’re all different from what I normally wear. But, yeah, they show some skin.”

“So is that a comfortable outfit?” He slowly spun them into the middle of the dance floor.

“Not really. It’s kinda tight, which is hard to believe since it doesn’t have much material.”

“There ain’t gonna be a problem with me tearing it off you?”