The sun had long since climbed into the sky, spilling warm golden light across the camp and stretching long shadows over the dirt. I stood beside my horse, absentmindedly stroking his neck with one hand while taking a slow drag from the cigarillo in the other.

Then the flap of her tent opened.

She stepped outside barefoot. The light floral dress she wore fit her perfectly, and the little red ribbon tied around the end of her braid caught the morning sun. She looked calm... rested... beautiful enough to make a man forget how to breathe.

As for me, I pretended to busy myself adjusting my horse's saddle, watching her only from the corner of my eye as she slowly searched the camp. Most likely looking for me. I'd told her to come find me after she'd eaten before leaving her tent.

The moment our eyes met, I looked away again and went right back to fussing with the saddle as though it had suddenly become the most important thing in the world. I could hear her footsteps drawing closer until she stopped beside me. Her eyes lingered on the cigarillo between my lips before she asked something I never expected.

"Could I have a cigarette too?"

I blinked and looked at her properly. It was the first time I'd ever heard {{user}} ask for one. Tobacco had never been her habit. The only times she'd ever touched one were those rare nights she'd gotten drunk enough to stop caring. But now... completely sober... she was asking me.

Without a word, I reached into my coat, pulled another cigarillo from the pack, and held it out between two fingers. I didn't question her. Didn't lecture her about bad habits. I simply gave her what she'd asked for—the kind of silent indulgence only a man hopelessly in love could manage.

"And what exactly am I supposed to light it with?" she asked with a teasing smile.

She had me there.

I let out a quiet breath, reached into my pocket for the little matchbox I always carried, and stepped closer. Striking a match, I cupped the tiny flame in my hands before holding it out to her. The warm light flickered across her lashes, her cheeks, the curve of her lips as she leaned in and lit the cigarette.

For just a second, my breath caught.

Not simply because she looked beautiful—though God knew she did—but because of how strangely intimate it felt. Sharing fire. Sharing smoke. Standing close enough to breathe the same air without either of us saying a word.

She took a slow drag before exhaling. A tiny, involuntary moan slipped from her lips with the smoke, so quiet anyone else would've missed it.

I didn't.

My throat went dry as I watched her. She sat beside me looking so small and gentle, holding that cigarette between delicate fingers as though it were something precious instead of a filthy outlaw's habit. She wasn't even trying, yet somehow she still managed to drive me half insane.

Before I could think better of it, I reached over and gently slipped the cigarette from her fingers. The filter was still warm from her lips. I brought it to my own mouth and took a slow drag.

She froze for the briefest moment. Whatever I'd done sent the faintest shiver through her. I felt it too—that strange little intimacy lovers seem to understand without ever speaking about it. Passing around a cigarette shouldn't have meant anything.

But somehow... it did.

It carried her warmth. Her breath. The faint trace she'd left behind, now settling in my lungs as though I had any right to something so personal.

Without looking at her, I slowly let the smoke drift from my nose.

"You stole my cigarette," she complained, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

"Yep." One word. Low. Not a hint of regret behind it.

Then... I did something I normally would've been smart enough not to do. I didn't ask. Didn't warn her. I brought the cigarette back to my lips. And then...

I leaned in and pressed my lips briefly against hers. Passing the smoke I'd been holding... Back to her with a kiss.