Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kelly Willis was a good girl by anyone's definition. She'd never dated around, having gone steady with her star quarterback boyfriend since her sophomore year of high school. He'd been her first kiss, her first experience with sex. Her parents had adored her boyfriend and had delightedly set about planning her future so she didn't screw up a good thing.

To make sure she was ever-present to their goal for her, she'd headed to college with him, wearing his promise ring, and had never once looked astray for attention from other men. Further, she'd gained her degree in a perfectly respectful, acceptably feminine profession.

She'd gone to church every Sunday of her life, never once doubting that God saw that she was good and would reward her for her virtue.

So, for her to be contemplating doing what she was now would've shocked the panties off her dear mother, her white-haired pastor, and her high school sex-ed teacher, who'd been long on abstinence and short on understanding a younger woman's hormones. But then again, where were they all now?

Not here, stuck outside a hotel in Bozeman, Montana, while she waited for the snowplows to clear a passage through the mountains so she could get to her destination.

She hadn't wanted to stop, and if the roads hadn't been blocked by traffic barricades and a police officer directing vehicles to the nearest exit, she'd have kept driving—the winter storm be damned. By now, she'd had plenty of time alone with her thoughts.

Crazy, mixed-up thoughts of revenge and retribution filled her imagination with images of the fiery pit of Hell. Not for her. No, the person who deserved to be cast down into its depths wasn't even here to feel the anger that had her fuming hot despite the chill, near-zero temperature.

While every curse word she'd never uttered aloud flitted through her mind, she felt her ire burbling like acid in her belly until it had to find its release.

"Fuck," she whispered, then glanced around to make sure no one else standing in the parking lot had heard her. No one was looking her way.

And once she'd said it, she felt disappointed in herself—not because she'd uttered that coarse, forbidden word but because she'd said it so softly. Was she gutless? Hadn't she earned the right to rebel against a lifetime's strictures? She'd been the Queen of Pristine, or so the boys at her high school had labeled her behind her back.

He had thought that title was hilarious, given what they'd done after the Friday Night Lights dimmed. He, who shall not be named. Ever again.

She sniffed back a sob, tamping it down deep.

"That fucker," she said a little more loudly this time.

She stood straighter. No bolt of lightning had struck her. In fact, her chest felt a little lighter now. She could finally draw a deep breath.

Again, her gaze went to the man on the edge of the group, standing outside the motel's diner while employees were scurrying inside to open for a bunch of stranded, hungry travelers.

He'd do. Not that he'd given her so much as a glance. It didn't matter that she'd decided for him. He was in the right place at the right time—although "right" and what she intended had nothing to do with each other. She turned up the fur-lined collar of her puffy jacket and strode in his direction. For the moment, she was filled with confidence because she'd earned this. Years of servitude to a single, hallowed goal would have their reward.

She didn't even care if he was handsome. Good looks hid ugly flaws, or so she'd discovered. She hoped he had a big nose and was missing a tooth—just one. She'd want to kiss him after all. She was sure he'd have calluses, given he was wearing a cowboy hat that looked like it actually served a purpose, with its faint ring around the crown. His jeans were faded by actual use, not some weird fashion statement. His boots were scuffed and a plain brown. No nonsense. A working man's footwear, not a poser's.

The closer she drew, the more confident she felt about this plan. First, she'd insinuate herself into sharing a table with him. She'd smile and flirt, then drop her extra key card on the table when she excused herself.

She was almost there; he was turning toward her…

No, he turned and smiled at a grinning woman who was waving her keycard in her hand and rushing to his side.

Well, shit. She only just managed to keep the words inside her mouth.

The doors to the diner swung open, and she was caught in the crowd of twenty or so individuals who flowed inside the heated space.

Tables filled quickly, and she eyed an open stool at the counter, but a man whose large bottom nearly swallowed the stool laid claim before she could.

She stood with her shoulders drooping, looking for an empty table, when she heard a throat clear to her left.

Glancing sideways, she saw a man with a lop-sided smile waving a hand to the open seat across from him. "I don't mind sharing, ma'am."

The "ma'am" likely made all the girls eager to drop their panties. But good Lord, he was too cute for her peace of mind. Another shiny, dark-haired, star-quarterback type if she ever saw one. However, he did have an open seat—and she was hungry.

She gave him a nod and dropped her purse on the empty chair beside the one she plopped down on. "Thanks."

"I snagged a menu on my way in. Want to take a look?"

When he handed her the menu, she noted his hands. They were large, the skin on top dry and tanned despite the fact that it was the middle of winter. The nails were cut square, maybe with a knife or a set of clippers. She doubted he'd ever used a fingernail file in his life, which was a point in his favor so far as she was concerned.

She glanced at his face again and decided he wasn't quite as slick and beautiful as she'd initially thought. His face was also tanned, or more like weathered, with premature, fine lines beside his very, very blue eyes. He had a nice square jawline, very manly, maybe a little stubborn, but it completed a nicely masculine portrait.

His mouth stretched, and she realized she'd stared a little too long. Quickly grabbing the menu, she forced herself to scan the entrees—anything but give him another reason to laugh at her.

Not that he had. Not really. So, why was she blushing?

"What can I get you to drink?"

Kelly blinked and glanced up at the waitress, who was frowning and tapping her toe. "A Coke," she said. "Light on the ice." It was cold enough outside.

"A coffee, and bring a carafe. I'll want at least a couple of cups," her tablemate said.

The waitress's expression changed from irritated to speculative when she turned to the man. "Coming right up. Food might take a while, what with everyone arriving at the same time."

"No worries. All we have is time," he said smoothly and gave her a smile.

He -who-shall-not-be-named had been just as smooth with the waitresses. He'd claimed it guaranteed better service, but now, she knew he'd simply liked the female attention his slick ways brought.

She frowned at her companion. He'd sunk a rung in her estimation.

"Did I say something…?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope." So, maybe the P had been overemphasized, but for all he knew, that was just the way she usually talked. It was kind of nice not worrying about how every word or phrase would be received because she really didn't give a damn.

His fingers drummed on the tabletop, and she folded the plastic menu and tapped the back of his knuckles.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I was just trying to figure out what we might talk about…you know, to pass the time, seeing as the food might take a while."

"And we haven't placed our orders yet," she said, frowning at the delay.

"You must be a city girl."

She narrowed her eyes on him. "Why would you assume that?"

"Something has you annoyed, and I'm thinking you're used to a faster pace of life."

"Well, you're wrong. I'm not a city girl. I'm from a small town that moves at a snail's pace—apparently, just like this one."

"Oh, Bozeman's not small. It's the third largest town in Montana."

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't say." And yes, she let the sarcasm drip.

"Population's over fifty thousand."

And now, she could see the laughter in his eyes. "A metropolis, then, and you're poking fun at me."

"I am."

She pressed her lips together, then let them stretch into a rueful smile. "Sorry. I'm not usually so rude to strangers."

"Only rude to the people you know?"

She laughed. "Only to the people I know who deserve it ."

He shook his head. "I'd hate to get on your bad side."

Her glance went to the window that was fogging beside them. "I didn't think I had one."

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then, "Sounds like you've got a story to tell."

She drew a deep breath and shook her head. "I'm not ready to tell it. I was outside practicing my cussing just thinking about it."

He chuckled. "You have to practice cussing?"

"Would you believe me it if I told you I'd never cussed in my entire life until just a few minutes ago?"

His gaze swept over her. "Yeah, buttercup, I'd believe you."

Their drinks arrived with a thump.

Kelly jerked and glanced upward.

The waitress raised a single eyebrow. "Okay, you two ready to order?"

"I'll have the meatloaf and fried potatoes, but substitute anything else for the green beans," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"I'll have the same," her companion said.

Kelly handed the waitress the menu and then sat back in her seat, reevaluating the man. Handsome and a good sport.

He'd do.

Ryan Mobley couldn't help himself. He was intrigued by the woman sitting across from him. She was cute in a high school cheerleader kind of way with the prerequisite short, uptilted nose, sparkling blue eyes, and long blond hair, which she had pulled back with little clips like his daughter liked to wear. He thought maybe she looked younger than she actually was because, at times, when her eyebrows drew together, there were a few telltale lines between them.

The seething anger he'd witnessed outside when he'd stood not five feet away from her when she'd "practiced" her cussing had seemed tinged with anguish. He was pretty sure some man had done her wrong. Maybe he was thinking in clichés when he looked at her, but everything about her screamed "Good Girl with a Broken Heart," and for some reason, he was drawn to her.

Perhaps because he had a sweet little girl at home and worried about how life would treat her when she grew up.

"Not from around here, are you?" he said.

She shook her head. "I'm from Indiana."

"Visiting family?"

"No. My family's back there in that small town I was just telling you about."

"And they let you come west in the dead of winter all on your own?"

"I've driven in snow before. Indiana, " she said, that sarcastic edge back in her tone.

"But not snow in the mountains."

Her chin lifted. "I have all-weather tires."

"If you expect to get through the pass tomorrow, you might want to consider chains."

Their food arrived, and neither attempted to continue the conversation as they stuck into eating their surprisingly savory meatloaf.

When they'd both cleaned their plates, they sat back in their chairs.

" Dayum , I didn't know how hungry I was."

He barked a single laugh. "You're getting pretty comfortable with those swear words."

"I have to get them out of my system. Now's the time to use them—just tonight—because they cannot become a habit."

"Why's that? Don't most people cuss from time to time?"

"I don't…and with my job…" She pressed her lips together.

"Your job?"

"Never mind. The less said, the better," she said cryptically.

He tilted his head, studying the blush suffusing her ivory cheeks. She shifted in her chair, glanced around the diner, and squared her shoulders before looking at him again.

He didn't know why, but he sat straighter, too. The look in her eyes was a little alarming. "You planning on robbing this place?" he asked, only half kidding.

She laughed, then covered her mouth. "That's not the kind of trouble I'm planning."

He leaned forward. "It's just me. And I won't tell a soul. Hell, I don't even know your name, so who'd I tell? What are you thinking about?"

She cleared her throat, and her glance fell to the tabletop before she drew another deep breath and met his gaze. "Are you married?"

He blinked. "Not anymore. Why?"

She nodded and drew another breath through her pursed lips before leaning closer and whispering, "Would you like to…um, come to my room?"

His dick reacted with an instant response, blood quickly zinging southward. He leaned over the table. "Just to be clear, are you inviting me to your room for sex?"

She gave a quick nod then glanced around, likely to make sure no one had overheard them.

"Are you sure about this? You don't know me from Adam."

"Well, are you some kind of serial killer?"

"Would I tell you if I was?"

She frowned. "You have an honest face."

He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking this was almost funny. "How do I know you aren't one?"

Her eyes widened. "Do I look dangerous to you?"

She sounded so hopeful he had to fight a grin. She looked about as dangerous as a kitten. A cute, inquisitive kitten.

This wasn't the first time a stranger had hit on him, and while he didn't make a habit of hooking up with random women, somehow, he felt protective of this one. If he refused her, would she look elsewhere? Hadn't she been eyeing the man with the cowboy hat before coming inside?

Inwardly, he groaned. He was looking for a reason to accept—one that didn't make him feel like he was taking advantage.

However, she was a grown woman. She was entitled to seek out illicit sex with a stranger. That she'd chosen him was likely just a lucky coincidence because he'd been attracted from the moment he'd seen her in the parking lot—a pretty girl, all alone, in the darkening gloom. He'd stayed close just to make sure she didn't run into any trouble. At least that was his story, and he'd stick to it.

The waitress returned, and Ryan pulled out his wallet, preparing to pay for both of their meals, but the woman quickly pulled bills from the pocket of her jacket. "Keep the change."

He paid his portion and then felt a moment's awkwardness. "You're sure?"

Again, she nodded. Then she rose and turned away, walking toward the exit. He pushed up from his seat quickly. Now that they were both standing, he noted how petite she was—a good eight inches shorter than he was. He was usually attracted to taller, well-padded females. Perhaps it was the padded jacket, but she seemed to move without an enticing swagger. She moved with purpose across the parking lot toward the motel. His steps quickened. Only when she began to climb the exterior metal stairs did she glance behind to see if he was behind her.

And there it was. A hint of worry pulled together her eyebrows—and there was a telltale nervousness in her crimped lips.

Ah, hell. He moved swiftly to reach her, knowing he was going to let her down easy because this just wasn't right—not for her, anyway. And likely, he'd regret not accepting her invitation for a very long time.

"This is me," she said at the top of the stairs, pointing toward the nearest door. She turned, then looked up at him as he sought the right words to refuse her very sexy offer.

Her mouth parted, and his gaze was drawn to her plump lips, which began to curve at the corners. He opened his mouth to speak. But she quickly faced the door, waved her card at the lock, and tugged down the door handle.

He cleared his throat, feeling like words were strangling right around his Adam's apple.

Then the pretty girl with the very determined gaze reached out, fisted the top of his jacket, and pulled him into the room.