“Holy Tinker Bell.”
She hated running late.
Her curse earned her an ominous crackling sound in the air around her. Using any fairy’s name as a vulgarity was frowned upon, but especially so-called good fairies. Unseelie or dark fairies took it in stride, or even as a compliment to have their names invoked. But the Seelie fairies had sticks up their asses.
Speaking of ogle…
Mark Sanders stopped and turned to watch her, giving her a frontal view of his very lickable body. She’d seen pictures of him in several local papers the rodeo sent out with stats and event highlights as she followed the rodeo circuit from one town to the next. She knew from watching him unobtrusively in each city that he looked much better in person than he did in grainy newspaper pictures.
She had to admit, he was a hottie–tall, dark, and handsome, with nice muscles in all the right places from his time bull riding, as well as breaking horses in the off season. Half the men who frequented the rodeo circuit were well sculpted from the same or similar activities, so she needed to get a grip.
Most likely, if she talked to him he would start with some lame cowboy line like, “Howdy, Ma’am,” or “Don’t you look scrumptious, hun’,” which would make her gag. She’d been working this case for six months now, and had met more than enough rodeo cowboys trying to get into her panties to know what to expect.
Sanders nodded to two cowboys as they passed him, saying something that she couldn’t hear, but whatever it was made both men laugh before they continued on toward the front doors of Rodeo Rose.
Mark Sanders was one of the sexiest men she had ever seen—especially when he laughed. And that was saying a lot, since the fae, as a species, were some of the most attractive beings on the planet.
Clara mentally chided herself for losing her focus.
She hadn’t been close enough to hear Mark Sanders actually use any lame lines, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he did. For some reason, when cowboys were trying to entice BBs into their beds, they cracked open the cheesiest cowboy pick-up lines playbook.
That wasn’t to say she hadn’t also met some terrific cowboys, but the last thing she needed was to go to her father with a request to marry a human. If she ever did fall for one, she wasn’t sure how that would go over, but he would have to be extraordinary for her to risk the man’s life over it.
Mark pulled a cell phone out of the front pocket of his Wranglers, and Clara’s mouth watered as she had a sudden vivid fantasy about sliding her hand deep inside that pocket while Mark Sanders smiled down at her.
She mentally slapped herself as he glanced over at her and then back toward the front doors of the bar.
Stop it, Clara.
No matter how hot Mark Sanders was, it just wasn’t possible.
EXCERPT…ALWAYS LOOK FORWARD
* * *
By
Tia Dani
Clint leaned against the bar while the bartender poured another shot of whiskey into a glass. Despite everything, his spirits lifted a little. He figured one more drink and casual conversation with the bartender, the day could turn out productive.
“Excuse me, which one of you gentlemen is Clint Hollister?”
Clint turned and stared, right along with the other men at the bar, who’d also turned at the sound of a woman's voice tinged with a British accent.
At the saloon doors stood a vision of loveliness. Though her demeanor shouted embarrassment, plus a bit of nervousness, she appeared as the complete essence of sweet virginal innocence and English propriety. Unapproachable yet…tempting.
Removing his hat, he stepped forward and gave her his most charming smile. “I am, Ma’am.”
The woman’s blue eyes assessed every inch of him. A shiver passed over him. He’d been looked over before, but it had been done by one of Tawny’s tarts, attempting to size him up as a lover.
“I see.” Her voice squeaked. She took a step backward, bumping into the swinging doors. “Would you be so kind to step outside with me?” She furtively glanced around the saloon. “This location isn’t exactly a proper place for a lady to carry on a conversation.”
“Certainly.” Well, that shot his theory of a proper woman not stepping into a saloon. He stretched an arm over her shoulder and pushed open one of the swinging doors. “After you, Ma’am.”
“It’s Miss.”
“Well, then, after you, Miss.”
With a quick nod, she turned and headed down the walkway toward the mercantile store. When she was abreast the building, she stopped and faced him.
“Mr. Hollister,” she said breathlessly. “I have something for you.” Fumbling with her reticule she withdrew an over-stuffed envelope and held it out. “I believe this is yours?”
He recognized it immediately. Harry’s papers. Clint narrowed his eyes as he took it from her. “It belongs to me, alright. How did you get it?”
Expecting to see her collapse under his insolent manner, the woman did just the opposite. She gave him a cold controlled gaze. That surprised him. Most women he’d run across wilted whenever he gave them the “look” as Tawny called it.
“I was given it by a young man, not more than twenty minutes ago.”
Clint didn’t respond for a moment, remembering what Isaac told him during dinner. Someone was lying. But who? Isaac or the woman standing in front of him. “Where?”
“Outside my hotel room, if you must know. I had just stepped out my door when this cheeky, disheveled, and quite dirty, young man stopped me. He asked if I would find a Mr. Clint Hollister and deliver...” She motioned to the envelope in Clint's hand. “This missive to you.”
Clint kept his skepticism in check, studied the envelope then focused his attention back on the girl with strawberry-blonde hair. “Why did he approach you?”
The woman smiled. “That’s what I wanted to know. He told me he saw me earlier and thought I looked honest.”
She certainly did. She not only looked honest, she looked good enough to eat. The muscles around his mouth tightened with the idea of placing his lips on her white, tender looking neck. Damn, she was one fine looking lady.
BodyGuard (Butterscotch Martini Shots Book 2) Page 45