Chapter 6

Lea bent over double, stretching out her thighs the best she could from a standing position. The soreness was almost incapacitating. She felt like she'd just spent a month on the back of that horse. She had no idea how she was going to move for the next twenty-four hours.

"A hot bath helps."

She spun around, not as surprised as she should have been to find Bowie standing behind her, amusement written all over his handsome face as he watched her stretch. He had the same open admiration in his eyes that Westin continuously tried to hide, but there was no attempt on Bowie's behalf to hide it. She'd chosen badly, it seemed, if all she was looking for was a casual lover.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know I like what I see."

"Keep it to yourself." She stretched her arms above her head, aware she was only giving him a new angle to enjoy, but not really caring. "Where did Westin go?"

"To find Clint. I guess the two of you found something out there?"

"You could say that."

"Well, while they work that out, you're with me. And, I hate to break it to you, but it requires getting back up on a horse."

"You're joking!"

"We're giving the tourists a ride out to the paddock to see a couple of the older cows."

"Great."

"It's a working ranch. Not much I can do about it."

"If I hear that one more time, I might have to scream!"

Bowie just chuckled as he headed out of the barn, gesturing for her to follow him. After some hesitation during which she honestly considered making a run for it, she did follow him, not thrilled to see Gray Lady still tethered to the hitching post by the big doors. Reluctantly, she climbed back up into the saddle, sliding her feet into the stirrups and pushing them outward, taking as much of her weight out of the saddle as she could, not only to aid the horse, but to keep the pressure off her ass. It didn't do much for her thighs, but she'd rather have sore thighs than a bruised ass.

It seemed Westin hadn't had to go far to find Clint. She saw the two of them huddled together behind the barn, looking at Westin's phone. She prayed they wouldn't go back out there and dig the box up. They had no idea what—or who—they were dealing with here. These people were not the kind of people who would appreciate having their stash messed with. Nor would they go easy on people like Westin and Clint, good ole boys who should know better but didn't. The last thing Lea wanted was for anyone on this ranch to get hurt, but she didn't know how to stop it without exposing them to a world and a truth she knew would only take them down an even more dangerous road.

She never should have come here. She desperately wished she'd kept driving when she came to that diner Friday morning. She'd already been going for more than twelve hours; she could have gone another couple of hours. If she'd only known Fang was that tight on her tail, she would never have put innocent people in danger. Never.

This was getting out of hand. She had to do something.

"There's our group," Bowie called out to her, gesturing to a small group of women huddled near the gate that led to the back of the property, the same gate Westin had taken her through this morning. "Give me a few minutes to get them saddled up."

He got down off his horse—a beautiful Quarter Horse that must have been seventeen hands at the withers—and sauntered over to the ladies, drawing their attention simply by his arrival. He was such a big man that he demanded consideration just by existing. Topping that off with a charming smile, deep dimples, and a charm that was like whipped cream on top of a sundae, he was almost irresistible. Lea once again found herself wondering if she'd set her sights on the wrong cowboy.

She dismounted and twisted Gray Lady's reins around the gate before walking over to join the group herself. She kept to the fringes, though, smiling to one woman who noticed her, but feeling kind of invisible as the others totally disregarded her presence in favor of hanging on every word out of Bowie's mouth.

"This is some vacation, isn't it?" she commented to a young blond woman when Bowie finished his introductory speech and began taking the women, one at a time, into the paddock to choose a horse. "I don't think I've ever been this sore."

"Not me," the woman responded. "I do yoga three times a week, so I'm in pretty good shape."

"I thought I was, too, but being on a horse for hours really does a number to your thigh muscles. It's like tensing your abs and forgetting to relax them all day."

The woman looked almost startled at the thought. "Lord, I hope not! I like my thighs. I need my thighs!" She leaned close to Lea, her eyes moving around the slowly reducing group as if she were afraid of being overheard. "I have my eyes on one of these cowboys. The younger, blond guy? So hot! I plan to get him into my bed before this week is over, so I kind of need my thighs to be happy, if you know what I mean."

"Then I would suggest you be real careful how long you ride this horse today. A couple of hours and…" Lea rolled her eyes. "Sore city!"

The woman made a face. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Well, what else are you going to do today?"

"There's a group of women back at the bunkhouse learning how to sew a quilt. I thought it sounded lame, but maybe I should do that instead."

Lea nodded. "Maybe." She glanced toward the paddock, watched Bowie deflect a flirty middle-aged woman while trying to get her settled on a horse. "You wouldn't happen to have a cell phone on you, would you?"

"Sure. Don't you have yours?"

"Forgot it back at the bunkhouse."

"You can borrow mine. Maybe you can look up cures for thigh soreness."

"Maybe."

The blonde handed Lea an iPhone in a pink case. She stepped away, turning her back to the fence in hopes that Bowie wouldn't be able to see what she was doing. She quickly dialed, her heart pounding a little as she waited for the call to be picked up on the other end.

"Hello?" a cautious voice finally answered, one Lea knew almost as well as her own. "Lee?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, thank God! I was beginning to think you weren't going to call."

"It's only noon here, Brother."

"Yeah, well, I know. But I'm not used to being out of touch with you for so long. You okay? Are you still safe?"

"I'm good. I just… listen, do you remember a few years back when we ran into those guys who liked to bury boxes on private property?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, I remember."

"They're at it again."

"How do you know that?"

"Because this place where I'm at, they found one this morning. Out in an empty field."

"You're fucking kidding me! In Colorado?"

"What are the chances—right? I'm afraid these people here aren't going to let it be, and the owner of the box might come after them. These are good people, Will. I don't want anything bad to happen to them, you know?"

"I get it, Lee. I know a guy in the Denver office. I've already talked to him about you. Maybe he can get up there a little sooner, have a look around."

"I'd appreciate that."

"So…" Will let silence fall, expecting her to fill it in, but she didn't, her thoughts still so tangled up in Westin. "Have you seen Fang? What's going on? Can you talk?"

But Bowie chose that moment to come through the fence to pick another tourist, and his eyes moved quickly over Lea. She dropped the phone to her side so that he wouldn't see it, but she was pretty sure he had anyway. Yet he only offered her a curt nod before turning his attention on another middle-aged woman, making her day when he bowed to her, offering her his elbow.

"I've got to go, Will," Lea said when she lifted the phone back to her ear. "I'll try to call you again tomorrow, but if you don't hear from me, don't worry. I'm safe where I am."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. You do what you need to do, and I'll take care of me."

Lea disconnected the call, walking up behind the blonde to give it back. The woman started to say something to her, but Lea walked off, returning to Gray Lady. She'd just taken a position in her saddle again when she spotted Clint coming in her direction. She was a little worried he was intent on heading out to check on that box, but then he cut off in a new direction, a tool belt tossed over his shoulder. She sighed in relief, deciding to assume that meant she'd convinced Westin, and Westin had convinced Clint.

***

Westin squatted down in front of the firepit and used a small shovel to move the ashes from their last chuck wagon around, trying to see if there was any usable wood left in the pile. There didn't seem to be, so he stood and shoveled the ashes into a bucket, clearing out as much of the mess as he could before he added new wood, shoving kindling down deep into the pile so that it would burn good and hot when the time came.

He hadn't liked the notion when Clint and Bowie first came up with the idea of bringing in tourists to make more money for the ranch in the winter. It had been a game Asa came up with, offering the ranch hands a thousand-dollar bonus for the first one who came up with a viable idea. There'd been a lot of ideas, too, each one more outlandish than the last. It was Clint and Bowie's idea that had won, but Westin—most of the guys, really—hadn't thought Asa would actually implement the plan. When he did, they all started to wonder just how badly the ranch was struggling.

Lots of ranches were struggling in the modern world. Between animal rights activists and the rising cost of everything from vet bills and drugs to keep the animals healthy to the taxes on the land and the simple expense of heating the barn and the other buildings on the property, it was getting harder and harder to keep a ranch profitable. Asa had seemed like a savvy businessman, though. It had sent a shiver of fear through most of the ranch hands when he'd started this stupid program.

It'd been three years now, and Westin still didn't like the tourists. Most of them were bored housewives and their oversexed daughters, mostly women over men. There some families, some young kids. Those weren't so bad. Westin kind of liked the little kids. But listening to the stupid questions some of the ladies asked, the ones who'd never set foot outside of a city and thought a spa was roughing it, drove him up the wall. He dreaded the arrival of the winter season.

But he didn't mind the chuck wagon. Maybe that was why Clint had put him in charge of it.

He finished setting up the fire, then went to the old covered wagon Asa had had built specifically for this, and started rooting through the supplies. They had chickens roasting up at the main house, and potatoes wrapped and ready to be baked in the fire. He'd make coffee and biscuits, too, all in the fire, the way the cowboys would have done on the trail back in the days when cowboys were real, and cattle drives were a necessity. They were expecting fifteen people to come to this tonight, and they usually had a few drop out, so he figured two of his huge cast-iron pots full of biscuits would be good.

The old cowboys would have probably eaten beans out of a can with their pocketknives and drunk dirty water from the river, but people expected more from these retreats. They didn't want the true experience; they just wanted something that took them far enough out of their comfort zone that it felt like the real thing. It was hypocritical to Westin, but he kind of liked making the biscuits, and who didn't enjoy a hot meal in freezing weather? In the snow, too. He'd have to send a text up to the main house, make sure they had enough blankets to send down. God forbid one of these city ladies catch a cold!

He was counting out the plates when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out, wondering what Clint wanted now, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was a message from Rena.

Thinking about you, it sweetly said. I had a good time last night.

Westin sat on the edge of the wagon's gate and studied the words that should have thrilled him but left him with this heavy feeling in the center of his chest. He read it three times, not sure how to respond. How was he supposed to respond to words as sweet as those from such a kind, gentle girl? He liked her. He really did. He wasn't expecting that.

Me, too, he finally wrote. I'd like to do it again.

How about tomorrow night? was the near instant response. She must have been watching her phone, waiting for the second he responded.

What did he say now? Of course he had to agree. What other choice did he have? He'd already started down this road; he had to keep going.

Tomorrow sounds great.

Good. Come over for dinner. The cook is making a lovely roast, and Daddy's always in a good mood on Sundays.

Had she just asked him to have dinner at her parents' table?

Westin got up and began to pace in a circle around the campsite, unable to believe his luck. He'd thought it would take weeks, maybe even months, to get Rena to trust him enough to invite him home for dinner. But all it had taken was months of passing conversation, and one date. He'd never been that lucky in his life!

Had Rena taken lessons from Lea?

That thought made him a little sick to his stomach to consider.

I'd like that, if you're sure.

Why wouldn't I be sure?

Yeah. Why wouldn't she be sure?

He couldn't believe things were coming together. Finally. He'd thought about this for years; thought of how he'd get his foot in the door at Rocking D. He'd tried applying for a job there, tried ambushing Dominic Mollohan in Milsap—but it turned out the guy rarely left the ranch without an entourage—even tried calling the house and making an appointment to meet the man's wife. Everything else had failed, but this… this was working. The one thing he'd put off, the thing he hadn't wanted to do. This had worked.

I'll be there, he assured Rena. Nothing was going to keep him away.

***

"Potatoes, bread, and beans were staples for the cowboy on the trail. Meat was often a rarity—with the exception of salt pork—unless the cowboys were up north where beef was a little more plentiful." Westin reached down to ruffle the hair of a little boy who was desperately trying to get his attention as he spoke. "Sourdough was often the bread of choice because it was simple and easy to make. But as any of you who have ever baked bread from scratch know, the starter needed to be kept warm at all times to keep the yeast alive. For that reason, when the cowboys were driving their cattle during the winter, the cook would often have to wear the sourdough starter in a pouch against his body in order to keep it warm."

The crowd was busy stuffing their faces with pieces of chicken and the lovely, soft biscuits that Bowie, Landry, and a couple of new faces were serving. A few were listening, and there were some murmurs as people digested what he said, but none of them were hanging on his every word quite the way Lea was. She had a seat on a hay bale toward the back of the crowd, far enough from the fire that the smoke wasn't burning her eyes, but close enough to still get a bit of the heat, a plate of food balanced on her thigh. She watched Westin, fascinated with the transformation that seemed to have come over him at some point in the day, something that added a spark to his eyes and a charming smile to his full lips. If she'd thought he was handsome before, she was even more convinced now.

And she didn't seem to be the only one. The very blonde whose phone Lea had borrowed earlier in the day was practically drooling as she listened to him talk, a piece of biscuit halfway to her mouth but stuck, like she'd forgotten that it was even in her hand. And several other ladies were batting their eyelids in his direction between greasy bites of chicken. He just managed to bypass one outstretched hand as he moved among the crowd, making sure everyone had a plate.

"Another interesting fact about the chuck wagon was the way in which they made the coffee. No one particularly likes to have coffee grounds in their morning cup of joe, so the cook would use just about anything he had handy as a filter. Quite often, cowboys would use their own socks as a filter in order to avoid that nasty mouthful of coffee grounds."

Groans filled the air.

"Lucky for you," Westin said, raising a hand to hold off the protests, "we splurged on a few proper paper filters for tonight."

A small cheer moved among those paying attention. Lea giggled, finding it quite refreshing to discover Westin had more of a sense of humor than she'd thus far suspected.

"He's quite the showman, isn't he?" Clint straddled a hay bale beside Lea, gesturing with his head toward the man in question. "Outright refuses to have anything else to do with the tourists, but he loves doing this. Says he enjoys showing off his knowledge of the Old West life."

"He's definitely enjoying something ," Lea commented as Westin bent low to hear something a pretty brunette was saying to him.

Clint nodded. "I don't think there's a man alive who can resist that kind of attention."

"I don't think it's just a man thing."

Clint made a small grunting sound, reminding Lea of his trouble with his wife. She placed her hand on his arm, suddenly angry with herself for touching a tender spot. "Sorry," she muttered, but he just brushed it off.

"I wanted to talk to you about that box you and Westin found out in the pasture."

Lea stiffened slightly. This wasn't a conversation she really wanted to have.

"He says you told him it would be best to just leave it, but he says you refused to tell him how you knew what it was."

"I was hoping he'd just take my word for it."

"He didn't want to, but I convinced him not to go back until tomorrow. I'm hoping it'll be gone by then."

"Me too."

Clint studied her face, his kind eyes searching for something she wasn't sure he'd find. She brushed at a loose hair that kept insisting on blowing across her forehead in the cold breeze. The snow had stopped falling, but the air was still crisp with it, even with the large fire burning just a few yards away.

"I'm responsible for a lot on this property, Lea," Clint told her. "For the people and the animals and the wellbeing of the entire operation. And I take that responsibility seriously."

"I'm sure you do."

"Westin told me he let you use his phone, and he showed me the number you called. The Internet has amazing resources when it comes to reverse phone number lookup." His eyes were still searching, still looking for something, but now she had a better idea what. "I need to know which side of this you're on, Lea. And I need to know if you're going to bring trouble to Golden Sphinx."

"The less you know the better," Lea told him. "I honestly don't want to bring trouble to you and your friends, but I was desperate in those first minutes after what happened at the diner. I never would have come here if he hadn't taken off with the car and everything important inside of it. Surely you understand that."

"Of course I do. That's why we brought you here in the first place. But I also can't put your safety above the safety of people I care about. We're just not equipped for that."

"I know. Like I said, if I can get a ride into town on Monday, I'll be out of your hair as quickly as possible."

He hesitated a moment, but then he nodded. "I think it would be best if you remain in your room tomorrow. I'll have someone hang around outside, but… I'm sure you understand."

"I do." Lea touched his leg lightly. "And for the record, I think you guys would run a fantastic security firm. Maybe you should think about it."

Clint grunted. "It's been suggested."

"It wouldn't take much to get a business like that off the ground. Most states don't require more than a high school diploma should you want to get a concealed carry license. Other than that, a few courses on personal security, maybe some criminology courses might be helpful. But, heck, you guys could probably hang a shingle tomorrow and start offering services to anyone who needs your help."

Clint took off his baseball cap and rubbed the top of his head. "It's a thought. It'd probably be better than running the tourists around the property."

"You wouldn't have to involve Miss Dulcie, you know. This is something you guys could do on the side, something that might help you develop a few funds to help pay a good lawyer."

Clint shook his head. "We couldn't do it without involving Miss Dulcie. She's more than just our employer, Lea. She's… We'd just have to involve her."

"Well, in that case, maybe you could call yourselves Sphinx Security Firm. Sounds almost regal."

He laughed. "Yeah, it does sound kind of professional, doesn't it?" He patted Lea's shoulder as he got up. "Westin's going to walk you back to your room, then Remington will be on night watch. I'll probably be on first watch in the morning, so if you need anything, just stick your head out the door, okay?"

"Thank you, Clint."

He nodded as he walked away from the fire, disappearing in the late-evening gloom. Lea turned her attention back to the show, almost disappointed to see that it appeared to have ended. She'd lost sight of Westin, but it looked like it was dessert time. Bowie and the others were moving among the crowd, handing out cups of coffee and small plates with something dark on them. Lea bit into her chicken, suddenly realizing she was ravenous. A day on the back of the horse had left her with more than incredibly sore thighs!

She was shoving a big piece of roasted chicken into her mouth when Bowie came to sit beside her, balancing a plate of something dark on her other thigh.

"What is it?"

"Reconstituted dried fruit. He soaks it in water, sugar, and a couple of spices."

"Westin really made all of this?"

"Everything but the chickens. Those they make up at the main house."

"The man grows more and more fascinating with each passing hour."

Bowie snorted. "We all have our talents, Ms. Adams. You'd be surprised by some of the things I can do."

"I know you're quite adept at flirting with rich tourists. I witnessed that all afternoon!"

He laughed a little, nodding. "I won't deny that. But I can cook, too. I make a good meatloaf. You can ask the other guys about that."

"I'm sure you do." She patted his arm lightly to reassure him before breaking into the baked potato that had come with her plate of chicken, sighing as she sank her teeth into the soft, cooked flesh. She didn't even miss the butter and sour cream. That's how hungry she was.

"You enjoy our little tour of the paddocks today?"

She glanced at Bowie. "The first time, or the second?"

"The second, of course."

"Yes, I did. I especially liked watching you rescue that woman who stepped on a steaming cow pie!"

"Happens every time. It's like those city ladies just go looking for the damn things." He sighed. "I've worked on this ranch for over five years, and I never once stepped on one. But these ladies… there's always at least one."

"Can't help themselves. The idea of being carried by a big, burly guy like you is just too irresistible."

He smiled even as his cheeks darkened a little. "Yeah, well, maybe that is it."

Lea set her dinner plate aside and picked up a piece of warm fruit between her index finger and thumb. She popped it into her mouth, syrup dripping down her chin. She closed her eyes, surprised by just how sweet and succulent it tasted as it burst over her tongue. She sighed, shooting a look at Bowie.

"It's good. I know. But don't tell him that, because he'll never let you forget it!"

Lea laughed, feeling light for the first time in a very long while. When had she last just sat and had a meal with someone? When had she enjoyed her food as much as she was enjoying it right now? When had she been this relaxed, this without worry? She couldn't remember.

She finished the fruit, savoring every bite as best as she could, but finding it hard not to eat it like it was about to be taken away from her. When it was gone, she was almost disappointed.

"Here." Bowie handed her a beer, slipping it out of an inner pocket of his jacket along with one for himself. Lea almost refused. She'd never been big on beer, and she made a point of not drinking whenever she was working. But she wasn't working right now, was she?

The beer was cold despite having been so close to his body, and it tasted of unbaked bread and everything that had been good about her childhood. Once again, she found herself thinking about her grandparents' farm and the long summers she'd spent there. It was the perfect place for a child to grow up: lots of sunshine; good, honest work; and lots of space for developing a proper imagination. It was funny, though. She hadn't thought of her grandparents or their farm in years. Not until this morning. And now she couldn't stop thinking about it all.

"Remington puts on a roping show when dinner's over," Bowie told her. "He should get started here in a few minutes."

"Remington's a roper? Does he do the rodeo circuit?"

"Used to. He has a couple of pretty impressive belt buckles, but he gave it up when he started working here. Doesn't talk about it much."

"Seems like none of you talk about much."

Bowie took a long swallow of his beer. "It's the stereotype. If we talked about ourselves, we wouldn't fit that image that all women have of the modern American cowboy."

Lea nodded. "Makes total sense."

He winked, and she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up out of her throat.

The show started a few minutes later, Remington approaching the crowd silently with a lasso that he quickly used to rope a small child who was trying to get too close to the fire. Everyone cheered as he freed the child and proceeded to give a short lecture on roping and why it's an important part of a cowboy's repertoire. Lea sipped her beer as she listened to his words, unaware she'd finished the whole bottle until Bowie slipped it out of her hand and gave her a new one. She was halfway through that when Westin slipped up to the rear of her, taking a seat on the hay bale behind her, close enough that she leaned back against him, taking some of the pressure off her poor thighs, and enjoying the heat of his closeness.

"Having a good time?" he asked warmly against her ear.

"Having a blast."

"We put on a hell of a show, don't we?"

He slipped the beer bottle out of her hand and took a swallow from it himself, slipping it back into her cold fingers as Remington lassoed a tall blonde and pulled her toward him, making the crowd laugh as he then dipped her as though they'd been in the middle of some ballroom dance.

"And you call me charming," Bowie said, dropping another wink to Lea as he got up and wandered off.

"You called him charming?" Westin asked.

"He is. You should see him with these women!"

"I'd rather not. I get my fill of this stuff with the chuck wagon."

"Hmm—the stereotype."

"Excuse me?"

Lea glanced back at him. "You like everyone to think you prefer your own company to anyone else's, right? Just you and your horse?"

"I do, most of the time."

"It's a stereotype. The modern-cowboy stereotype."

"Is it? Or is it that I'm just not the kind of guy who gets along well with strangers? I work just fine with Clint and the others—just not these… city women."

"You grew up in a city, didn't you? Didn't you tell me you were from Denver?"

"I got to the country as quickly as I could."

Lea finished her beer, setting the empty bottle with her discarded plates. Westin gathered them all and tossed them in a metal barrel they were using for trash before coming back to her, sweeping into a low bow, and offering her his hand. She giggled, not only because it was the most charming thing he'd yet done, but because she caught jealous looks coming from a couple of women who were paying more attention to them than the show.

Their jackets were too thick to allow much contact, but it was still nice walking side by side with him, her arm tucked into his. He didn't talk, and she didn't encourage him to. She decided she kind of liked the silence, liked the companionship without the need for chatter. Her life was spent talking to people, trying to get information from them. It was nice to just be quiet for a change.

"Clint says you're going to try to arrange to get out of here on Monday."

"I'm going to see what I can do. I have to make a few phone calls, visit a few people."

"Do you know someone locally?"

"No, not really. But I have friends who might."

"I don't even know where you're from," Westin commented. "Every time I ask you something personal, you find a way to distract me from the fact that you never answered the question."

He didn't seem annoyed; he just said it like he was making an observation. It caught Lea a little off guard, so she fell to what she always did. She told him the well-practiced lie she'd always told, mixed with just enough truth to make it easy to remember.

"I was born outside of Austin, Texas, but my mother took me to California after my dad died. I grew up in Van Nuys in a lovely neighborhood where most of my friends were either latchkey kids or in the foster care system." She glanced at him. "Do you remember that term? Latchkey kid? That's what my mom called them."

"I've heard it."

"I'm not a big mystery, Westin."

"Not a mystery. Just a woman with a lot of secrets."

"Wouldn't you like to learn a few of my secrets?" They'd reached the bunkhouse and Lea leaned against the door, smiling up at him as she carefully unwound her scarf from her neck. "I'd be willing to show you just about anything you want to see."

"You already have," he reminded her even as he leaned close to her, his lips nearly brushing hers, but not quite. "Do you not remember the little game with the towel? Or the topless greeting you gave me this morning?"

"You wake a woman from a sound sleep—you risk seeing whatever she has to offer."

"Then it was my fault, was it?"

"Definitely."

Lea brushed her fingers over the curve of his jaw, the roughness of his stubble an erotic texture that would have driven her crazy if it was on her own body, but turned her on to no end on him. She could already feel that scratchiness against her mouth, her throat, and that increased the ache that had been burning deep in her belly since the moment she set her eyes on him.

She rose up on her tiptoes and nibbled at his bottom lip, smiling when she saw the fire she'd lit in his eyes. "Why don't you stay the night? I think we could both use a little release. Don't you?"

"You're relentless, aren't you?"

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Westin. Women enjoy sex as much as men."

"That's not really a secret."

"I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment. Just one night, just a little release." She kissed the corner of his mouth, her hand sliding down his chest to the top of his jeans, snagging behind his belt buckle. "Just two adults giving each other a little pleasure."

He groaned, stepping into her, pressing his body hard against hers. He captured her mouth, taking everything all at once, exploring her with a passion that sent shivers from her head to her toes. She sighed, tugging at his belt to pull him even closer, giving back as much as he was offering. She couldn't remember the last time a man had made her toes curl. There'd been a few—a sweet boy back in high school who'd thrilled her despite his na?vety, and a boy in college who'd been exciting but more because of his endurance than anything else. But that had been longer ago than she cared to think about, a more innocent time she'd believed was gone from her life forever. And she had been right. But maybe a little wrong, too.

Something about Westin's kiss sent her back to that time, awakening things inside of her that had long been dormant. Just looking into those stormy blue eyes made her have thoughts that were unlike her. She had these boxes in her head, in her heart, that kept everything compartmentalized. It was important in her work that she not get emotional, that she not get too attached to the people around her. It'd made her hard, and that made it difficult to make connections when she wasn't working. So, this caught her by surprise, the way Westin somehow broke open a few of those boxes with just a look.

She was almost sad that this little vacation was almost over. But that was all it was. An impromptu vacation.

Westin ran his hand down her back, cupping her ass in the borrowed jeans she was wearing. His fingers were searching, and her body immediately responded, her muscles going slack to give him all the access she could. But his hand continued moving, grabbing her sore thigh, pulling her leg up along his side. She went willingly as he pulled her up, wrapped her legs around him, moaning with both pleasure and pain as her sore thighs cried out with the movement.

His hat fell off as she slipped her hands up along his skull, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. He grunted, started to turn his head to see where his hat had gone, but she stopped him, a hand on his jaw. She wasn't letting him escape her just yet.

"You're something else," he mumbled against her ear as his lips burned a trail along her throat. "You'd make a monk break his vows."

She started to laugh, but his teeth nibbling against the curve of her shoulder turned her laugh into a groan. Hell, he knew what to do with that perfect mouth of his! And his hands on her ass were strong and curious, doing things through her jeans that she never could have imagined would feel half as good as they did. If he stopped now, she was pretty sure she would lose her mind.

At some point, the door popped open behind them. Logically, she knew he had to have turned the knob, but she wasn't sure when or how. She was lost in the way his lips were moving against her throat, the heat of his breath and the pleasure of his touch. And then his mouth was back on hers, touching places inside her that hadn't been touched in… hell, she was pretty sure they'd never been touched. At least not the way he was doing it.

Her head was spinning, and a part of her felt as though it was separating from reality, slipping into something else, something cosmic. She'd never felt anything quite like it before—like she was removed from her body, feeling everything in a way that was limited by the restraints of her physical being. Every point at which their bodies touched was like a hotspot, sending so much information to her brain that it was overwhelmed. Blown.

She wanted him so desperately that it almost hurt.

They stopped halfway down the corridor, slamming against the wall so hard she lost the air in her lungs for a minute. She didn't care. If this was the last thing she ever felt, it would be worth it.

She wanted his jacket gone. It was so big and so bulky, and she craved the feel of his skin against hers. She started to tug at it, her fingers fumbling in their rush. He set her on her feet, the same idea on his mind. Almost like a gentle caretaker, he carefully pulled at the zipper, sliding it all the way down until it separated, exposing the soft sweater she wore underneath. He dropped to his knees and lifted the bottom edge of the sweater, his lips brushing against her bare skin. Her thighs immediately decided they couldn't possibly hold her up, those sore muscles finally giving up after the punishment she'd offered them all day long. Westin saw her going down, and he managed to catch her as he jumped back up onto his feet.

Westin swung Lea up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way down the hall. She laid her head on his shoulder, every nerve in her body alive and sparking, excited about what came next. But she felt something change in Westin just before he mumbled, "What the fuck?"

He set her down and she stumbled. He turned, calling out into what she could now see was the open door to her room.

"Who's in there? Come out where I can see you!"

It took Lea a second to understand what was happening. She reached behind her body, looking for a weapon that wasn't there. Westin stormed into the room ahead of her, making himself as big as possible as he moved with surprising grace, his footsteps light.

"Come out!" he bellowed again.

Lea heard something crash, a lamp maybe. And then Westin stormed ahead of her, disappearing for a second. She heard another crash, and her instincts kicked in. She quickly slammed the door behind her to block off that exit, then rushed to help Westin. However, by the time she was fully in the room, the glass in the window was shattered and Westin was standing among the broken pieces, watching as someone in a dark jacket and jeans ran into the snow.

"What the hell?"

Westin spun on her. "What have you brought here? Who was that?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"He was after something." He gestured around him, pointing out the open drawers and the mattress that had been shoved off the bed. "Why here? Why your room when there's a massive house just half a mile from here? What is he looking for?"

Lea shook her head, her legs weak again. She stumbled back, hit the wall. "I don't know. No one knows I'm here. He couldn't—"

"But he was. He was here for you, for something he thinks you have." Westin's eyes were a firestorm. "What have you done?"

But she had no words for him. What could she say? And she could see that he knew it.

She'd never hated a situation as she did that one in that minute.