Wrangling The Rich Rancher. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      “Yeah.” Nothing was going to take the sting out of her writing Kirby’s biography. Except maybe sweeping her into a mindless kiss that would make him forget his worries. Or reaching his hand under her skirt. Or hauling her off, like a caveman, to his bed. But he wasn’t going to do any of those things.

      No matter how good they would make him feel.

      * * *

      When Matt pulled into his driveway and parked, Libby was still thinking about the book and how she was going to get him to agree to be part of it. But as they turned toward each other, a strange sensation came over her—almost as if they were on a date and she was going home with him for the very first time.

      He frowned, and she suspected the same awkward notion had come over him. The porch light from his cabin created a misty glow, intensifying the ambience.

      Neither of them spoke. Not a word. Until he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you to your door.”

      “That isn’t necessary.” She’d walked to the dance by herself. So why would she need an escort now? “My cabin is just right over there.”

      “Yes, but sometimes the coyotes come down from the hills at this hour. We’ve got lots of them around here.”

      “But they wouldn’t approach me, would they?” She couldn’t imagine it.

      “They might.” He spoke in a serious tone. “I’ve heard they’re partial to blondes in short skirts and fancy boots.”

      She broke into a smile, grateful for his offbeat sense of humor. She knew now that he was kidding. “I can fend them off. I’m tougher than I look.”

      “That’s good.” He chuckled. “Because you look like a sugar cookie dipped in silver sprinkles.”

      She feigned offense. “You don’t like sugar cookies? What kind of crazy person are you?”

      “I never said I didn’t like them.” His humor faded. “I can eat dozens of them.” His amber eyes turned hungry. “I could even devour one whole.”

      Libby fidgeted in her seat. If she were smart, she would make an off-the-cuff remark. She would crack a joke. But she didn’t do anything except sit there like the cookie in question.

      She finally drummed up the courage to say, “You’re making me nervous, Matt.” She didn’t usually admit defeat, but her defensive mechanism was on the blink, screws and bolts coming loose.

      He stared at her mouth. A second later, he lifted his gaze back to her face, snaring her in his trap.

      “I’ve been thinking about kissing you,” he said. “I’m not going to do it, but I keep thinking about it.”

      “You probably shouldn’t be telling me this.” Just as she shouldn’t be imagining how his kiss would feel—hot and wild, with his hands tangled in her hair, his tongue slipping past her lips.

      “I even wondered about what kind of panties you have on.”

      Embarrassed by his admission, by the shameful thrill it gave her, she pressed her knees together. “I’m not going to tell you.”

      “I’m not asking you to. But I’m not taking it back, either. I admitted how I feel, and it’s over and done with now.”

      It wasn’t over for her. She wanted to know more about him, so much more. “Have you been playing around since your divorce?” she asked, curious about his habits, his primal needs. “Do you go to the bar to meet women?”

      He scowled at her. “You have no right to ask me that.”

      “After the things you said to me, I think I’m entitled to a little payback.” She was still pinning her knees together, still feeling the discomfort of being the cookie he wanted to devour.

      He cursed quietly.

      She went flippant. “Is that a yes or a no? I couldn’t quite tell.”

      He almost laughed. But he almost snarled, too. The sound that erupted from him was as unhinged as their attraction.

      “If I’d been getting laid,” he said, “would I be acting like a rutting bull around you?”

      “I don’t know,” she challenged him, determined to get a straight answer. “Would you?”

      He shook his head. “You’re something else, Libby.”

      She was just trying to make being the object of his desire more bearable, even if meant getting him to admit that he’d been alone since his divorce. “Maybe I better go home now.”

      “Back to California?”

      Big, handsome jerk. “Back to my cabin.”

      “Damn. I should have known you wouldn’t cut bait and run.”

      “You don’t have to walk me to my door.” Now that she knew there weren’t any coyotes out to get her. “You don’t have to play the gentleman.”

      “I wasn’t playing at anything. But it’s probably better if I keep my distance. I’d just want to kiss you, and that’ll only make things worse.”

      She wasn’t sure if they could get any worse. He was already making her far too weak. If he kissed her at her door, she would probably melt at his feet.

      He said, “You should go home for real.”

      She refused to concede, to get any weaker than she already was. “Sorry, cowboy, but you’re stuck with me.”

      He leaned back against the seat, as if he were weary. Or lonely. Or something along those lines.

      He sat forward again. “Maybe I will take you into town tomorrow.”

      Her pulse bumped a beat. “Really?”

      “Sure. Why not? There’s a bakery where we can get some cookies.”

      She laughed even if she shouldn’t have. “You’ve got a hankering, do you?”

      “Hell, yes. Don’t you?”

      More than he could possibly know. “Will you show me the house where you grew up?” It was at the top of her list of places to see. She had the address, but she hadn’t run a map on it yet.

      “I suppose I could take you. It’s better than you poking around out there alone.”

      She eagerly asked, “Is this the start of us being friends?”

      “I think it’s more like the other thing you said we could become.”

      “Frenemies?”

      “That’s it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around two. I have some work to do on the ranch before then. But for now, we both need to get some sleep.”

      Yes, they did, she thought, each of СКАЧАТЬ