Authors: Em Petrova
She saw him coming and flapped a hand from inside her
thin cotton coat pocket to wave him away. Her words were snatched by the howling wind.
“Like hell
I’ll go away.” He caught her quickly, thanks to his long legs. Up close, her pixie features were chapped by wind, and ice clung to her arching brows and made her lashes spiky.
“Turn right around and get back into your truck, Trace Allen.”
That incensed tone wasn’t lost on him—his groin heated. It was a lazy heat that reminded him they were stuck outside of Oklahoma City together with a lot of time on their hands. Trace nudged the front of his jeans to ease the tightness.
After breaking up and making up with her a few times, Trace anticipated her anger in an unexpected way.
He glared at her. “What in fuck’s name are you doing out here?”
Her grass
-green eyes glittered. “What are
you
doing out here?” She didn’t seem any happier to be in that crowded truck stop than he was.
He paused.
He and Lacey had enjoyed more than one night in the solitude of his trailer, escaping the media and rodeo groupies. They’d lain in bed and dreamed of owning a chunk of land in the country.
Well, that didn’t happen.
He wrapped his gloved fingers around her arm and steadied her against his side before she was knocked into the snow by the brute-force wind.
“I’m goin’ back to my car, you high-handed ass.”
God, her sweet drawl was music to his deprived ears. One flare of his temper after he’d lost a big cash prize had sent her packing, and he’d regretted it every minute since.
She and her father worked with some of the bulls on the rodeo circuit, and that put her right in Trace’s path more often than he was comfortable with.
He shook his head to clear it and continued to haul her through the snowdrifts to his truck. She dug in her heels, but like the rest of the stranded travelers, she was wearing slippery cowboy boots, and she didn’t have a chance against his strength.
After r
ipping open his truck door, he tightened his grip in case she made a break for it. As expected, she struggled even more.
“Stay,” he barked.
“Am I your dog now?” Too bad her incensed tone wasn’t snatched by the wind.
He shot her a look from the corner of his eye. “Hershey listens better than you most of the time.”
Hooeee, that was the wrong thing to say. She tried to wrench her arm free, and he tightened his grip again, battling a smile. Damn, he loved to see that spark in her eyes.
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