Larissa Ione - Rogue Rider

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

“Think?” Tanya whispered to Jillian. “I lost that ability about five seconds ago.”

Jillian had, too, and she licked her lips to buy some time for her brain to kick in. “You look great, Reseph.”

He stomped his foot and flexed his shoulders. “I don’t like them.”

“We can look for something else—”

“It’s not that. It’s clothes in general. I don’t like them.” He frowned. “Maybe I was a nudist?”

“Sweet mother of hotness,” Tanya whispered. “What magical island did you find him on? I’m booking the next flight.”

Well, that fired Jillian’s imagination, and for a moment, she pictured herself lounging at a tropical resort, where all the men had big, muscular bodies… and walked around nude.

And they all looked like Reseph.

“Sadly, we have to wear clothes in our society,” she said, resisting the urge to fan herself at the sudden hot flash. “Did all the shirts and jeans fit?”

He gave her that panty-melting smile of his. “Yep. You have a good eye.”

The compliment made her ridiculously giddy. “Okay, now socks and underwear.”

“I don’t wear underwear.”

Jillian’s throat went so dry she couldn’t even swallow. She imagined popping open those jeans and having him right there, ready for her touch.

What the hell? She’d never been so inflamed by a man. Oh, she knew lust, knew how good sex could be, but with Reseph, it was as if the switch for her libido was stuck in the on position, and all attempts to shut it off were failing.

Somehow she found her voice, but it was thin and embarrassingly squeaky. “You sure?”

Looking down, he slid his palms over his hips and butt as if feeling for underwear lines, and when his long, tapered fingers brushed his fly, Tanya let out a strained moan.

“Pretty sure,” he said, looking up.

“Okay, then.” Jillian was on fire, her heart thudding out of control in her chest. Socks. He needed socks. Socks weren’t sexy. “We’ll grab you some socks and toiletries.” She turned to Tanya. “Can he wear the clothes out?”

“Of course.” Tanya looked Reseph over like he was a steak and she was starving. “We’ll just have to get creative with scanning the tags.”

Creative. Uh-huh. They grabbed a package of socks and various toiletries, and at the checkout counter, Tanya definitely took advantage of the fact that Reseph was wearing some of the clothes she needed to scan. Jillian was pretty sure he didn’t have a tag down the back of his pants, and after enough of Tanya’s fondling, Jillian found the tag herself… on the outside of the waistband.

Reseph was amused by the whole thing, but Jillian had to admit that while Tanya’s attention made him grin, it was Jillian’s touch that made his eyes darken with heat.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. No, she was sure. He needed help she couldn’t give him, so he had to go. Nothing good could come of getting attached to a man with no past.

“Now where to?” he asked, when they climbed into the truck.

“The feed store, and then the sheriff’s station.”

Going taut, he swallowed, turning his sober gaze on her. “What if they find out I’m someone… bad?”

“They won’t.” She started the engine.

“You sure?”

No. “Yes.”

He said nothing more as they drove to the feed store, and in the two minutes she’d spent paying for eight sacks of grain, he had them stacked neatly in the back of the pickup. He was waiting for her at the tailgate, elbow propped on the top, one booted foot crossed lazily over the other.

“I noticed the floor of your barn storage space gets damp,” he said. “I can use some of the fallen logs behind your house to build a platform to keep the grain off the ground when we get back.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I can’t run a dishwasher, but for some reason, I think I’m handy with old-fashioned tools.”

The way he offered, so casually, as if this whole situation was run-of-the-mill, made her heart constrict. None of this was casual, or run-of-the-mill, or even welcome. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need him, didn’t want to grow dependent on him, and certainly didn’t want to get used to having him around.

The last time she’d let a man into her life, she’d ended up with more than a broken heart; she’d gotten a few broken bones, too.

“Thanks,” she said firmly, as she hopped into the truck, “but it won’t be necessary. I’ve got it handled.”

He joined her, not bothering to buckle in as she peeled out of the lot. “You don’t like accepting help, do you? Why not?”

Sudden anger welled up from out of nowhere, shocking her with its intensity. “Because when you need something the most from someone, they always let you down.”

“You didn’t let me down when I needed you,” he said quietly.

Wincing with guilt, she whipped into the sheriff’s parking lot, grabbed the bag of clothes and toiletries, and practically ran into the station.

“Hey, Jillian.” Matthew Evans, who had graduated high school two years before she had, stood from behind his desk. “Stacey isn’t due in until tonight.”

“I’m not here for Stacey.” She patted Reseph on the arm. “I have a mystery for you.”

“What’s going on?”

“This is Reseph. I found him near my house. He has amnesia and we don’t know who he is.”

Matthew gave her a you-can’t-be-serious look. “Is this a joke?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

After a moment probably spent trying to decide whether or not to buy into her story, Matthew nodded. “Okay, let’s take a report and see where we need to go with this.” He gestured to Reseph with his pen. “Do you know anything at all? Where you live? How you got on the mountain…?”

“No.” Reseph’s voice was level and serious, the total opposite of how he’d been with her and Tanya.

“All we have is his first name,” Jillian said.

Matthew guided them to a couple of chairs, and they spent the next half hour answering questions and filling out paperwork. When they were finished, Matthew stood, and Jillian and Reseph did the same.

“I’m going to contact the state police and hand this over to them. But first, I’ll call the local shelter and get you set up, Reseph.” He turned to Jillian. “It was good seeing you.” He strode out of the room.

“What does he mean, shelter?” Reseph’s crystal eyes searched hers.

Crap. Jillian blew out a long breath. “It’s where you’ll stay now. Matthew and the social workers will help you find out who you are.”

His jaw clenched so hard she heard it pop. “And if that doesn’t happen?”

“Then they’ll get you the help you need to take care of yourself.”

He stepped closer to her, overwhelming her with his size, his presence, his masculine, outdoorsy scent. “I don’t want to go to a shelter. I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t.” She backed up, needing to extricate herself from the magnetic pull that seemed to surround him. “You need things I can’t give you.”

“I don’t know these people.” He sounded so distraught that she almost reached for him. God, how easily he stirred emotion in her. Another reason he had to go. “I don’t want to know them.”

She had to get tough. But not for him, for her. “Reseph, I have enough to deal with on my farm. I can’t keep an extra stray.”

“Stray?” He was on her in a flash—she didn’t even have time to be afraid or question his intentions, because his mouth was on hers and his body was a hard wall against her curves. “Does this feel like I’m nothing but a stray?” he murmured against her lips.