Maisey Yates - Good Time Cowboy

It had been like her entire body had been hollowed out, making room for this feeling that he had created and placed inside of her. There had been nothing but that. For a full thirty seconds. Nothing else existed outside of it. Not her life. Not her marriage.

Then Damien had stood up, smiled, grabbed hold of her and introduced her as his wife.

It had been like watching a train she had been meant to catch move away from the station, far ahead of her, going somewhere she would never be able to follow.

After that, she felt like she’d been slapped in the face by reality. And whatever feeling she had felt moments before had been replaced completely by anger. Resentment.

At him. As unfair as it was.

“Yes,” she said, her throat dry. “It’s just a little bit of a spark. I’m a woman. He’s a man. It’s nothing...” Again, she flashed back to that first moment in that bar, when the earth had shifted beneath her feet. “Nothing I haven’t felt before. Nothing I won’t feel again. If you don’t catch one train, another will always be by,” she said, in defiance of that earlier metaphor that had passed through her mind.

“If you say so.”

“I do. And I have work to do.”

“Okay,” Sabrina said, writing on the order form in front of her with a flourish. “I have to get down to town. Enjoy your ride.”

Lindy clenched her teeth. “Oh, I will. I will.”

CHAPTER SIX

WELL, HELL. HE had anticipated how much he’d want her if she showed up in a little pencil skirt, the kind he wanted to shove up her hips so he could step between her thighs. He had expected her hair to be in a prim little bun. Had expected that he would want to take it down and run his fingers through it. He always did.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to be wearing jeans. Jeans that molded to her long, slender legs and showcased her figure in a new, tantalizing way, that the styling of her skirts didn’t.

Neither was better than the other. Not really. But it was a new look at her body, and his own body reacted favorably to that.

The damned pervert.

She still looked prim in her way. She was wearing a button-up shirt, and all those tiny little buttons made his fingers itch to undo them. But she had on a pair of tennis shoes, and that made him smile.

He got out of his truck, his boots hitting the gravel in the drive, the rocks crunching beneath his feet. And she was standing there, her arms crossed, her blue eyes sharp and assessing.

She was trying to get a read on him. Trying to figure out what he might do, so she could figure out what she should do.

If there was one thing he’d figured out about her—besides the fact that her ass had the most delicious curve to it—it was that she liked to be in control.

Too damned bad for her. Because so did he.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” she said, affecting an impatient tone.

He damn near shook his head.

He had expected better from her. She had gone and shown her hand. She was already eager to get this over with. And he didn’t have anywhere else in the world to be. Which meant he was gonna take his sweet-ass time.

He closed the door to the pickup truck slowly, then made his way around the back to the small horse trailer that was hitched up there. “It’ll take a couple of hours to do the whole trail,” he commented.

“I know,” she said. “When Sabrina and Jamie worked out the route, they discussed that.”

He nodded. Also slowly. “Right.”

Only a man who’d made a study of Lindy Parker would have any idea how agitated she was. But, he was a man who’d made a study of her.

The way her blue eyes flashed when she was angry. The way she pursed her lips together and pressed her mouth into a flat line to keep from displaying any emotion she hadn’t damn well chosen to display.

The particular set of her shoulders, the way she squared her hips. Like she was ready to face an opponent in battle.

He saw all those things contained in her still form and placid expression.

Because he was a fool.

A fool who was really enjoying drawing all this out.

He undid the latch on the horse trailer, then slid it open. He climbed up inside and encouraged the two horses they were taking out on the ride—Emmy Lou and Trixie—out into the lot.

All the while very aware of the fact that Lindy was standing there, stiff-necked and anxious. Her very noncasual mood at stunning odds with the outfit she’d chosen to wear today.

No. She was not more relaxed than usual at all. But then, he wondered if that was him , more than it was anything else.

Unless it was Grant.

Annoyance kicked him in the gut.

He didn’t believe that she wanted to date Grant. But, clearly she wanted him to think that she did.

Mostly, he was confident in the fact that she did not . Mostly, he was confident in the fact that the kind of heat and fire he’d felt when their skin had made contact last night could not be one-sided.

He wasn’t sure if that was a victory or defeat, but he was certain of it nonetheless.

“Grant says hi,” he mentioned offhandedly, getting the tack out of the horse trailer and beginning the process of readying the animals.

“Does he?” she asked, keeping her tone as smooth and placid as the expression on her face.

She was a beautiful, accomplished little liar, that woman.

“Yes,” he said. “I told him that you...expressed some interest last night.”

“Did you?” There was a small break in her composure. A slight twitch to her brow, a little hitch in her breath.

If she wanted to lie, then two could play that game.

“Yes. He was very interested.”

“Well. That’s...good. Very good. Because, I also am very interested.”

He stood there for a moment, the lead rope to the horse in his hands, his eyes fixed on hers. And he watched as the color mounted in her cheeks. Pink. Tempting. He wanted to kiss those blush-stained cheeks. Hell, he wanted to kiss her everywhere.

He had a feeling that that was written on his face as clearly as the blush was written across hers. “You are shameless, Lindy Parker,” he said, bending down and tightening the girth on the horse’s saddle. Gratified when he could feel her eyes moving over his body as he worked.

“I am not,” she snapped.

He straightened and turned to look at her. “My brother is a grieving man. And you would use him to get at me?”

Lindy’s mouth dropped open, then closed, like a fish. “I am not trying to...get you.”

“I mean to irritate me.”

She sniffed. “Well. If you didn’t think that I wanted to go out with him why did you tell him I did?”

“I didn’t,” he said. And then he winked, because he knew it would enrage her. “But, this was a fun little play we just acted out.”

She treated him to a very teenage facial expression and he couldn’t help but smile, imagining how she might have been when she was younger. Less polished. Less careful. “You’re such an ass.”

She reached into the small purse she was carrying and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, jamming them over her eyes.

As if that would protect her.

He could read her every emotion on that pale skin. He wondered if she knew that. He wondered if anyone had ever told her that anger made her flush a certain shade of rose, that desire made her flush creep down her neck, intensifying the color.

He knew.

He knew, because he had been watching her for the past five years.

There was no way on earth that didn’t sound creepy as hell, but it was the truth.

“Sure. I never said I wasn’t.” He kept staring her down, even while he got the second saddle on the other horse, while he bent down to tighten the girth. “And you started it. You were the one who asked me about Grant.”