Page 7 of Impossible Love

“Uh.” I need to pull myself together. “I’m not in the habit of getting in a car with strangers.” I blink at him, doing my best to ignore the fact that I’m thinking how much I’d love to get in the car with him. I remind myself that there are psychopaths everywhere, not just in the big city, and a trip into the remote wilderness could be the last ride I ever take.

I hear the news anchor in my head: Coming up after the break, the violet-eyed cowboy looked like a dreamboat, but the visitor found herself roped and tied and living in a nightmare…

“Nobody’s a stranger around here.”

That voice is as reassuring as it is deep. For a second, I imagine his singing voice might fall somewhere between Usher and Bing Crosby, smooth enough to charm a girl right out of her panties.

“Everyone knows everyone here, and I bet we’ll know each other too by the time I get you to your destination.”

I scan his face, looking for a sign that he’s being sarcastic or even flirting. But his expression is blank—pleasant enough but revealing nothing. I can’t decide what this man’s deal is. Is he a sociopath? Or just a simple, hard-working man?

Either way, he’s wrong. There are strangers here. Because to me, he’s very strange.

I’ve never met a man quite like him.

He takes a step towards me. His gaze latches on to mine, fixed and unflinching. I gasp. His eyes are so intense I have to look away.

Chapter 6

Cal

She clutches her phone to her chest like it’s a life raft. I hope I’m not coming off as intimidating. I don’t mean to.

But she covers her anxiety with a lift of her chin and a shake of her head. “I’m sure my car will be here any minute.”

I can see that she’s skittish. High-strung. And stubborn.

The ranch is full of that kind of female, even if they are Appaloosas and Paints and Quarter Horses.

This one, though… I can already tell she’s a Thoroughbred. Silky and hot-blooded.

But she’s still considering my offer. She purses her mouth as she thinks, and a small divot forms between her brows. She’s not wearing her movie-star sunglasses now, and I’m getting a good look at her eyes for the first time. They’re a sexy shade of green, as dusky as an angry sea under stormy skies. Unpredictable and maybe a bit perilous.

Luckily, I have lots of experience with that sort of thing.

Her phone rings. She answers, listens for a moment, and says, “Thank you for trying. I’ll call you back.” She shoves her phone into her bag, places a hand on her hip, and gives me a once-over.

She’s trying to hide it, but I can tell she likes what she sees.

It’s mutual.

Ms. Businesswoman is a whole lot of hot in that suit. It looks custom-made, some kind of fine lightweight wool. The jacket is fitted against her waist, and the skirt is straight, short, and tight, not leaving much to the imagination. I can see her flat belly and firm thighs.

That suit is expensive. Like the luggage, the haircut, the makeup, and those fucking shoes.

I let my eyes travel down her body to her feet, doing my best to hide my grin. Those heels are pencil-thin and look to be about five inches high. I see her cute little pink toes peeking out the front.

The shoes arch her back, push out her breasts, and lift that ass in the most appealing way possible.

I think I remember hearing that it was a man who came up with the concept of women’s stilettos, and my hat’s off to the bastard. He knew what he was doing. I rake my gaze up the front of her body until we’re eye to eye again.

We stand like that for a moment, sizing each other up. She crosses her arms under those spectacular tits, and once again, I can’t fathom what business a woman this fucking beautiful has out here at the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.

It makes absolutely no sense.

“If you still need that ride, I’m happy to help.”

One of her eyebrows arches. “How do you even know I need a ride?”

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