Page 14 of Dirty Cowboy

And then, I see him.

Eric leans forward with his jaw tight. His eyes are locked on me, and his entire body iscoiled.

I reach for the strip of my fringed bra, teasing the clasp, when?—

Eric moves.

In a blink, he’s on the stage, yanking his black shirt off and shoving it over my front. The crowd cheers at first. Then, when hepicks me upand carries me off stage like a goddamn caveman, they boo.

Behind the curtain, he sets me down but keeps a firm grip on my wrist. His chest heaves and his eyes burn.

"What thehelldo you think you’re doing?"

I yank my hand free, rubbing where his grip left warmth. "Living a little. Something I don’t need your approval for,cowboy."

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. "Itbecomesmy business when you’re stripping in my friend’s club. What if your brothers found out?"

I lean in, just close enough to catch the intoxicating scent of him—sandalwood, hay, something purelyEric. "Then it’s a good thing you’re here to protect me, isn’t it?"

His fingers flex like he wants to grab me again, and my pulse skitters wildly.

"Where’s your car? You’re going home."

"Grace drove me. Andyou’resqueezing too hard," I lie, wincing slightly.

His grip loosens, but his frustration doesn’t fade. "Where is she now?"

"Let me call her?—"

He snatches my phone before I can dial. "Forget it. I’m taking you home. Stay put."

Then he storms off, leaving me alone in the dim hallway, still wearing his shirt. The fabric smells like him, and it’s almost enough to distract me from the unsettling feeling creeping in.

I shake off the nerves just as Eric returns, jangling a set of keys.

"Come on."

He leads me outside, ushering me into what Iassumeis Cash’s Porsche. The seatbelt clicks into place, his fingers brushing my thigh in the process. Heat flares under my skin. He rounds the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten.

"What were you thinking?"

That I wanted his attention. That Ineededhim to see me.

Instead, I sigh. "I was just having fun."

"Stripping is your idea of fun? I thought you’d grown up."

Damn it.

"I love riding horses too," I blurt out like a moron.

Eric exhales, exasperated, but when his gaze flicks to my thighs, his lips twitch.

"What did you do to your hair?"

I twirl a strand of my freshly cut hair around my finger, feeling oddly self-conscious. “It’s just a trim. What do you think?”

Eric shifts in his seat, eyes scanning me like he’s assessing something far deeper than my hair. “It’s spunky. And I like spunky.” He leans back slightly. “Suits the shape of your face.”

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