Unlike James Dean, this yummy bad boy even had pierced ears. Only instead of sedate studs or small hoops, he had tiny black plugs. Only a bit bigger than a pair of studs, the plugs were recessed in his lobes. The had the Chinese Kanji for strength etched on them in silver. Or pewter maybe. It wasn’t shiny.
The earrings were hot. Just like him.
He looked like the kind of man who had a tattoo. Nothing colorful. Something black and meaningful. She wanted to see it. Too bad she couldn’t just ask.
Interpersonal interaction had so many taboos. It wasn’t like science where you dug for answers without apology.
“Lana?”
The stranger had a strong jaw too, squared and accented by a close-cropped beard that went under, not across his chin. No mustache. His lips were set in a straight line, but they still looked like they’d be heaven to kiss.
Not that she’d kissed a lot of lips, but she was twenty-nine. Even a geeky scientist didn’t make it to the shy side of thirty without a few kisses along the way. And other stuff. Not that the other stuff was all that spectacular. She’d always wondered if that was her fault or the men she’d chosen to partner.
It didn’t take a shrink to identify the fact that Lana had trust issues. With her background, who wouldn’t?
Still, people had been know to betray family, love and country for sex. She wouldn’t cross a busy street to get some. Or maybe she would, if this stranger was waiting on the other side.
The fact that she could measure the time since she’d last had sex in years rather than months, weeks or days—which would be a true miracle—wasn’t something she enjoyed dwelling on. She blamed it on her work.
However, every feminine instinct that was usually sublimated by her passion for her job was on red alert now.
The temperature’s rising in Karen Kelley’s HOW TO SEDUCE A TEXAN, out this month from Brava…
She hit another pothole.
Dammit! They came out of nowhere. As soon as she got home, she’d need to take her car in for realignment. And she’d send Marge the bill.
She topped a rise and slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailed, spewing a thick cloud of dust behind her. Her heart felt as if it had taken residence in her throat. She skidded to a stop, barely missing the cow that languidly stood in the middle of the road looking unconcerned that it had almost been splattered across her windshield.
Nikki’s heart pounded inside her chest and her hands shook. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the black and white cow looked at her with total unconcern. This was so not how she wanted to start her vacation slash investigative reporting.
“I almost wrecked because of you.” She glared at the cow. Her cold-eyed, steely glare that she’d perfected over the years. If it had been a person rather than a dumb animal, it would’ve been frozen to the spot.
The cow opened its mouth and bellowed a low, meandering, I-was-here-first moo.
She didn’t think the cow cared one little bit that it had almost become hamburger. Damned country. She’d take city life and dirty politicians any day.
“Move!” She clapped her hands.
The cow didn’t get in any hurry as it lumbered to the side of the narrow road and lowered its head. The four-legged beast chomped down on a bunch of grass, then slowly began to chew.
She shifted into park, then waved her arms. “Shoo!”
Nothing.
She honked the horn.
Nothing.
The hot sun beat down on her. A bead of sweat slid uncomfortably between her breasts. She judged the narrow road, wondering if she could maneuver around the cow without going into the ditch.
Before she decided to attempt it, another sound drew her attention. She glanced down the dirt road, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as a cloud of dust came toward her. The cloud of dust became a man on a horse.
Correction. A cowboy on a horse.
Hi-ho, Silver, the Lone Ranger, she thought sarcastically.
But the closer he got, the more her sarcasm faded. The Lone Ranger had nothing on this cowboy. Broad shoulders, black hat pulled low on his forehead…
Black hat. Bad guys wore black hats. Right? Things were looking up.
At least until he brought the horse to a grinding halt and dust swirled around her—again. She coughed and waved her hands in front of her face.
“Bessie, how the hell do you keep getting out?” he asked.
His slow, Southern drawl drizzled over her like warmed honey, and she knew from experience warmed honey drizzling over her naked body could be very good. Sticky, but oh so sexy.
Did he look as good as he sounded?
She shaded her eyes again at the same time he pushed his hat higher on his forehead with one finger. Cal Braxton’s tanned face stared down at her. His cool, deep-green eyes only made her body grow warmer with each passing second.