Roped In

The voice of the outlaw again. “You don’t know what kind of danger you’ve put yourself in, waiting here for me.”

The voice…this voice.

Shane’s.

She blinked. Held her breath as reality rushed her.

Real. This was actually happening.

Her heart blipped like a series of beeps counting down to a gasp that wouldn’t come. It was so dark that she couldn’t see much else but the cut of moonlight slashing across the foot of her bed.

His whispers seemed to weave themselves into the surreal, carnal shadows.

“Not a word,” he said, tracing her mouth with a finger, clearly intending to continue what he’d started.

Lust fireworked through her. Had he wanted her so much at the party that he’d come here, just like the bad boy he’d always been?

Had that look he’d first given her from across the room said everything?

Heart exploding, she turned around to him, and even in the near darkness, she found him with a bandanna over the lower half of his face. With her free hand, she tugged it down. Her pulse kicked in her ears, her blood going through her so fast that it felt like lightning.

“Shane?” she whispered, although she couldn’t see much of his face.

He froze for some reason.

She didn’t move, either. She wasn’t sure why—maybe because this had started out as a dream. She’d been half-asleep, but at some point, she’d been awake.

So, so awake.

Dreaming had only been an excuse for her to throw herself into her biggest desire, and it was just now enveloping her with that reality.

Even so, her pulse chugged along, propelled by the possibility that he had wanted this as much as she had.

But when he spoke, he blasted her world apart.

“Who else would it be but me?” he asked.

For a second, she followed the echo of his question, the reverberations chipping away at her.

Nicki grabbed her blankets to cover herself and snapped on a bedside light.

And there he sat, the outlaw Shane, shock registering on his face, too, as he saw that this wasn’t the welcome he’d been expecting.

IT TOOK SHANE A FEW seconds to come to terms with what was happening.

Why did she seem so flabbergasted?

But there she was, huddled under the bedcovers, her hair a tumble of falling curls and one lone feather that had stayed in during all the excitement. The few others were spread over the bed, like the aftermath of some crash.

The flush of her cheeks made the green of her eyes stand out in surprised fervor.

But why was she reacting like this if she’d invited him over?

Shane got up off the bed, thankful that his untucked shirt covered all evidence of his arousal. Not that she wouldn’t know his state, but…

Ah, crap.

“The note…” He lowered his voice. “You wrote me a note.”

“What?”

Now he was really confused. He dug into his jeans pocket where he’d stored the paper, then offered it to her.

She read it, her brow furrowed. She looked adorable, even if she was likely to murder him any moment.

His body was still pounding from everything that’d just gone on in that bed.

Nicki Wade. She’d been dressed as a saloon girl, as if it was a comfortable thing for her, but then again, outside of costumes, he’d never thought that Nicki would be so…

He couldn’t come up with a word that described what she’d conjured up in him. All he knew was that he’d wanted her more than anything now. She was perfect—her scent, like fresh summer grass; her smooth skin; the way she’d fit in his hands; the gasps and moans that had reached right into him, twisting and turning until he was so wound up that it hurt to stand here staring at her.

It felt as if she’d always been here, waiting.

“What the hell is this?” she finally said in her own edged whisper as she held that note.

Either Nicki was playing the innocent or she was truly flummoxed. He was going to go with the latter.

“Candace,” he said, thinking that he should’ve known better. “She must’ve been setting us up. She wrote that note and put it in my pocket.”

Nicki was already out of the bed, the covers wrapped around her, even though she still had most of her clothing on. She picked up a TV remote from her nightstand.

“Nic—” he started to say.

She threw it at him and he dodged. At the same time, he scooped his hat off the floor.

“Can we be civilized about this?” he asked.

“Civilized?” Even their harsh whispers seemed to rock the house. “This is beyond civil.”

She searched her nightstand for something else to throw, and he darted over to her before she could destroy her entire room.

He’d clasped one of her wrists in his hand, and he could swear that his skin against hers set them both to sizzling.

His cock gave an agonizing thud, so he let go of her and she backed away, as if rocked hard, too.

“I understand why you’re upset.”

“Just what do you think I am, for you to come over here and…?”