by Sabrina York
“Nothing.” Porsche batted her lashes, making it clear that it wasn’t nothing.
“Porsche, please.”
She sighed heavily and glanced over her shoulder at the others, who were embroiled in a debate about the merits of fur or no fur. “It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
A shrug. “Ford doesn’t like him.”
A familiar lurch tugged at her stomach. Porsche’s brother was a solid, well-respected rancher who, like Hanna, had lived in Snake Gully most of his life. He was good-natured and easygoing and liked just about everyone. “How do you know?”
“He told me.” Porsche dropped into a chair and folded her fingers. “When you and Zack broke up, when you went to Paris . . . Ford was really happy for you. He said he was worried that you . . .”
“Worried that I . . . what?”
“That you and Zack would end up together.”
Hanna’s gut clenched. “Wh-why would he worry?”
A shrug. “Just talk.”
“There’s always talk.” And according to Zack, it was inspired by nothing more than the jealousy of his rivals. In fact, with the exception of one incident in high school, when he’d had too much to drink and tried to take liberties, he’d never been anything but gentlemanly and sweet around her. Surely the stories were nothing more than that.
Porsche nodded. “Just . . .”
“What?”
“Be careful around him.”
Hanna stilled. What an odd thing to say. “He’s my fiancé.”
“I know. I only want you to be happy, Hanna. Does he make you happy?”
Oh. Dear. How did one answer that question? What was happiness, really? Unable to formulate any words, she nodded mutely. Porsche stared at her for a moment, as though she really didn’t believe Hanna’s conviction, if there had been any, and then she patted her hand. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Thank you, Porsche.”
It was an awkward conversation and Hanna was relieved when the moment was punctured by Sidney’s gasp. “Did you see that?” she crowed.
“Oh, my, yes.” Amy shot a glance at Hanna. “That guy just bench-pressed Tibby.”
Porsche snorted. “Someone needed to bench-press Tibby. God, she’s annoying.”
“I hear that.” Amy rolled her eyes.
Hanna smiled. “Come on, give her a chance. You just met her.”
“An hour and a half on a bus with her? Yeah. I’ve seen enough. She’s a vulture, that one. I don’t like the look in her eyes.”
“Now stop. She’s going to be my sister-in-law.”
Sidney’s expression soured. “You have my sympathy.”
“All I gotta say,” Amy chimed in, “is that this Zack guy had better be pretty hot for you to get stuck with that as an in-law.” She thrust her thumb at the window.
“He’s cute.”
It was a surprise the way all their heads whipped around at this, the way their eyes narrowed as they studied her.
“Cute?” Porsche tipped her head to the side.
“Just cute?” Amy parroted Porsche’s stance.
“He’s a great guy. A wonderful guy. Just wait till you meet him.”
Hanna ignored Sidney’s snort. Sidney had never been a fan of Zack. There was no point trying to convince her. No point trying to convince any of them. It was her decision to marry him. Her life. Not theirs.
“Yeah. Just wait till you meet him.”
“Be nice, Sidney.”
“I’m trying, Hanna. God knows I’m trying. But hell, he’s a stick.”
“He’s very polite.”
“He’s too polite.”
Hanna laughed. “Is there such a thing as too polite?”
“There is if it’s all an act.” Sidney plopped down on the bed and hugged a pillow. “I never liked him.”
“I’d noticed.”
“He sets my teeth on edge. The way he comes over and calls Dad ‘Mr. Stevens.’”
“That is his name . . .”
“And brings Mom flowers.”
Amy shook her head. “He sounds very sweet.”
“He is sweet,” Hanna felt obligated to add.
“He reminds me of Eddie Haskell,” Sidney grumbled.
Amy put out a lip. “I don’t know who that is.”
Sidney frowned. “Google it.”
“Well, I’ve never met Zack,” Amy said. “But if Hanna loves him, I will support her one hundred percent.” She smiled warmly, but Hanna felt something cold crawl up her spine.
She was marrying Zack no matter what anyone said. But did she love him?
Honestly, in her heart of hearts, the answer was no. But she was twenty-five. She lived in a small town with limited prospects, not to mention the fact that no one else in Snake Gully had ever asked her out. In fact, the men her age barely made eye contact.
Aside from this dismal fact, none of them had ever made her feel. Certainly not the sizzle of arousal, the twist of anticipation, she’d experienced locking eyes with that man in the barnyard.
Why, after all this time, had she found that elusive emotion now?
Now that she was engaged?
And damn it all. She’d held out for a long time, turning Zack down each time he proposed. Each time, he’d smiled and patted her hand and said he’d wait until she was ready.
She’d been convinced she’d never be ready. Not for marriage, and not for marriage to Zack.
But then things had changed. Her entire world had started to crumble and Zack had made her an offer she couldn’t afford to refuse.
And she’d accepted.
She was engaged to him.
She should be thrilled. He was the wealthiest man in town. He was handsome and he treated her like a precious . . . pet.
So what if he didn’t make her heart stutter, or her breath catch? So what if passion didn’t blaze when he kissed her?
She’d kissed a lot of men, even slept with a few in Paris. None of them set her on fire.
Besides, what she really wanted? What she yearned for and fantasized about and secretly craved? She would never ask Zack for that. He was far too proper. He would be horrified.
She’d always thought there would be more. Could be more. When Zack kissed her . . . she felt nothing.
Well, maybe not nothing. Occasionally there was that flare of panic.
But she knew she was doing the right thing. She knew she had to marry him.
Zack, the president of the local bank, had told her—in total confidence, of course—that her father was in deep trouble. He was behind on his mortgage payments and the bank was about to foreclose on the ranch. Zack assured her he could help pay off the staggering loan. But the only way he could do that was if Hanna was his wife.
She shouldn’t have been shocked. She’d seen hints that her once-wealthy father was now pinching pennies. Selling off chunks of the land. Letting some of the ranch hands go. Buying generic brands at the grocery store. The lines on his weathered face had deepened and the silver touch at his temples had spread.
She’d assumed he was struggling to meet the rising costs of her mother’s medications.
Dad never wanted to talk finances with her. He never had. But Hanna had been hit with the realization that, if she didn’t marry Zack, her family could lose their home. With Mom in the condition she was in, that would be devastating.
So she’d agreed to his proposal.
And she tried not to feel as though a sharp-toothed trap was closing around her.
She forced the thought away, forced a smile at her friends. “I am so glad you’re here.”
“Of course we’re here,” Amy said.
“And it will be an awesome weekend,” Sidney insisted.
Porsche nodded. “It will.”
; As her friends chatted about their plans for the weekend, and which of the hunks they wanted to bid on at tonight’s auction, Hanna crossed to the window and peered outside. Surely she wasn’t hoping to catch another glimpse of him? The man who had snagged her attention before?
He was a stripper, bussed in for the weekend. For the purpose of entertainment.
Of all the men in the world to finally give her that exhilarating flare she’d been hunting for, why did it have to be him?
She chewed her lip as she watched Zack’s sister flirting with one of the cowpokes in the barnyard. They hooked arms and sauntered toward the house.
Zack hadn’t wanted her to go this weekend, but since Sidney was the maid of honor, it was her obligation and her right to plan the bachelorette party. In the end, Zack had smiled and patted her hand and exhorted her to “have fun . . . but behave.” There was no doubt he’d sent his sister along to keep an eye on her and report back.
Something about that just stuck in her craw.
The trapped feeling grew like a cloud, encompassing her soul. She gasped for breath as something constricted in her chest.
And then, he walked into view, filling her vision, filling her mind. He crossed the now-empty barnyard with a coil of rope over his shoulder, his unbuttoned chambray shirt flapping in the breeze, giving her a tantalizing peek at his hard-muscled abs.
Something tight, deep in her core, snapped, released. The sound of the laughter behind her faded and her world narrowed down to the sight of him. Her heart thrummed like the beat of a ticking clock. Her body softened. Saliva pooled in her mouth.
She wasn’t married yet. She didn’t belong to Zack yet. She hadn’t made any vows.
What if, just for this weekend, for this brief splash of time, she could be the free bird? What if she could take what she wanted?
And why not? Why not play a little now? While she was still footloose?
If she was ever going to explore her deepest fantasies, now would be the time. And who better to approach than a man who’d been around the stripper pole . . . at least once?
“Hanna?” Sidney’s call scattered her thoughts. Shattered that imprudent fantasy.
Desolation sliced through her like a knife.
What on earth was she thinking?
She was not the kind of woman who could waltz up to a man like that and demand that he service her. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could step outside her box. She wasn’t and she never would be.
A heavy cloud lowered onto her soul.
“Are you ready for the hayride with the hotties, Hanna?” Sidney asked with a grin.
Hanna forced a smile and nodded, but only to appease Sidney. Only so her sister would look away, focus on someone else.
She couldn’t bear it if anyone spotted the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Chapter Three
It crossed her mind to blow off the hayride, but Porsche, Amy, and especially Sidney were insistent that she come along. And she was glad she did. If for no other reason than to distract her from her dismal thoughts.
As Hanna stepped off the porch, the sunshine kissed her face and a lovely breeze skated by. All of a sudden, the day seemed more beautiful and a hayride with her friends sounded like fun. And maybe, just maybe, this weekend away, even at a stripper ranch, seemed like a good idea. And not just because the yard was filled with partially dressed and hunky men milling around a flatbed decked in hay bales and hooked up to a tractor.
“Hello, beautiful,” one of the men said. He had perfect features and cut abs framed by his unbuttoned “cowboy” shirt. Something bulged in his crotch and Hanna was certain she knew what it was.
Socks.
She shot him a grin because he was handsome and it was the polite thing to do, and the socks amused her, but she should not have done so, because the small gesture encouraged the hottie and his brethren to circle around and commence intense flirtations. From their coos and giggles, her friends didn’t mind the attention, but Hanna had never liked feeling boxed in. She eased her way out of the crowd.
And as easily as that, she found herself on the outside again, looking in.
Damn. She hated when that happened. But it happened a lot.
She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t.
She was tired of feeling so alone.
And even as the thought, the regret, the roil of frustration danced in her brain, she glanced toward the barn and he stepped into view, making his way toward the drive. Her focus narrowed in on the vision of him as he approached, nearly slow-motion style, although that was probably just her imagination.
Lordy. He was gorgeous. His long limbs moved with a sure synchronicity, a lyric poetry. His boots kicked up small clouds of dust that drew her eye, but then it skimmed upward, over his muscular thighs tightly wrapped in denim, to his chest swathed in flannel, to the curl of hair escaping from his Stetson. As he approached he tugged on his gloves—leather—and Hanna’s mouth went dry.
Everything about him called to her—but those work gloves were the icing on the cake. She’d always had a thing for gloves, but it had never hit her as hard as it did now.
A shiver of excitement wound with trepidation danced through her. There was no reason for her to be afraid of this man, except for the way he made her feel. But maybe that was reason enough. He made her feel like a young girl come face-to-face with her first crush.
“Holy God,” Amy whispered. “Now, there’s a man.”
Hanna tried not to glare at her when she realized her friend was gaping at him.
Amy leaned closer and peered at the magnificent hunk of man through squinted eyes. “He’s not even naked and he’s hot,” she whispered.
Sidney folded her arms and shot them all a smirk. “Some men don’t need to strip to be mega hot.” And then, to Hanna’s horror, her sister flounced over, hooked her arm in his and batted her lashes. “Well, hey there,” she purred. “What do you say you sit with us?”
Oh hell. Something bitter crawled up Hanna’s throat. Not because her sister was ostensibly condemning her to an afternoon up close and personal with the man of her dreams . . . but because when Sidney looked at a man like that, she wanted him. And what Sidney wanted, she usually got.
Never before had Hanna felt such . . . envy of her sister. How she wished she were the kind of woman who could just reach out and take what she wanted. But she wasn’t.
Her dismal mood was shattered when, before responding, he turned to look at her with a question in his eye. She couldn’t imagine what that question might be, but before she had a chance to wade through the possibilities, she nodded.
She probably imagined the hint of a smile on his perfect lips, but she hardly cared. Because he tipped back his hat with a leather-clad finger and said, oh-so-solemnly, “It would be my honor to escort you ladies tonight.” And then he put out his arm. To her.
She probably only stared at it for a moment or so before she took it, but it felt like an eternity. But then, when she touched him, when her fingers connected with the soft flannel shirt and his own personal heat, she nearly moaned.
Perhaps that was why she didn’t like frolicking with random men, didn’t like casual physical contact. Because of the impact to her soul. Because it hit her so hard. Maybe she was supersensitive to it.
Or maybe it was just him.
She was barely touching him, yet his presence, his heat, his scent enfolded her.
Something about it, something about him, hit her deep in her core. A wave of need, unlike any piddling desires she’d ever felt before, swamped her.
She stumbled a little as they made their way to the hay-flecked trailers, but he caught her. With his gloved hand. She stared at it for a moment, swallowing her drool, and then glanced up at his face. Their gazes locked and she found herself sinking into his beautiful blue eyes.
“Careful, no
w.” A sultry whisper. Or simply a whisper, but it had a sultry effect.
She swallowed heavily and nodded, but couldn’t seem to rip her attention away.
It was thrilling that it seemed he could not either.
When they bumped into the trailer—because neither was paying attention to where they were going—they both chuckled. Something about it, that shared humor, warmed the energy between them. Melted the ice princess a tad. Enough at least for her to shoot him a playful grin as he helped her mount the stairs. That he returned it warmed her even more.
Gentleman that he was, he helped the other women climb up onto the trailer, skillfully deflecting any wandering hands. It was clear he was a different breed from the other men on the hayride—many of whom just hopped up and snagged a preferred spot for themselves—but to most of the women attending this party, a man was just a man.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
When he climbed up onto the trailer and glanced around for a seat, Sidney waved at him. “Here!” she called, scooting over and making a space between herself and Hanna. It was hardly enough space for his muscled bulk, so Hanna scooted over as well.
Her heart thrummed as he made his way to her, ignoring many other calls, and squeezed in between Hanna and Sidney.
Sidney leaned forward and peered around his chest, waggling her brows. Hanna had to ignore her. Her brain couldn’t deal with her sister’s shenanigans and the incredible sensation of being pressed against his side from thigh to chest.
The tractor started up and lurched forward, tugging the trailers behind. The sharp movement threw her hard against him and because she was trying to keep her arm between them, she practically gored him with her elbow.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He chuckled and lifted his arm and—to her horror and delight—wrapped it around her shoulder. “No worries,” he said with a smile. And again, she found herself drowning in his bluer-than-blue eyes. His lashes were long, she had the presence of mind to notice. Far longer than should be legal.
And he had dents in his cheeks that dimpled when he smiled. And a spattering of scruff on his chin.
Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?