The Merciless Travis Wilde

And, yes, she’d come out tonight for—for that knowledge of men, of kisses, of hard bodies but she’d wanted it done on her own terms, at her own pace, with her doing the choosing of the man who’d—who’d complete her research.

A man in a suit. A successful executive, someone who could be trusted to be gentle with a woman. Not a—a rough-and-ready cowboy in boots and a T-shirt and faded jeans.

Stop complaining. You wanted gorgeous, and gorgeous is what he is.

Yes. But still—

“Y’all come back soon,” a voice called.

A roar of laughter followed the words.

She felt the cowboy stiffen beside her. His fingers dug into her elbow hard enough to make her gasp.

“Hey,” she said indignantly, “hey—”

He flung the door open, stepped outside, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead he frog-marched her through the parking lot to the enormous black pickup parked next to her Civic.

“Mister. I am not—”

“Are you okay?”

Jennie blinked. There was concern in his voice, and it wasn’t what she’d expected.

“No. Yes. I guess …”

“That was a close call. You were doin’ fine, until the end.” He grinned. “Had to zing me a little, right? Not that I blame you.”

“You? Blame me?” Indignation colored her voice. “Listen, mister—”

“Truth is, we probably got out just in time.”

So much for indignation, which didn’t stand a chance against confusion.

“In time for what?” Jennie said. “What was going on back there?”

“It’s kind of complicated.” The cowboy smiled. This time, that smile was real. “Thanks for digging me out of a deep, dark hole.”

“Well, well, you’re welcome. I guess. I just don’t understand what—”

“It’s not worth going into. It was a mix-up, was all.”

He smiled again. Jennie’s heart leaped. Did he have any idea how devastatingly sexy that smile was?

She told herself to say something. Anything. Gawking at him wasn’t terribly sophisticated. But then, what would he know about sophistication? The boots, the jeans, the hard muscles …

Everything about him was hard.

The muscled chest. The taut abdominals. The—the male part of him that she’d felt press against her belly just before he’d stopped kissing her …

That’s the girl, her alter ego said.

Jennie swallowed dryly.

Her brain was going in half a dozen directions at once.

“You—you really had no right to—to just walk up to me and … and—”

“—and kiss you?”

She felt herself blush.

“Yes. Exactly. Even in the most highly sexualized primitive cultures, there’s a certain decorum involved in expressing desire …”

His smile tilted.

“Is there,” he said.

It wasn’t a question—it was a statement. And the way he was looking at her …

She took a quick step back.

Or she would have taken a quick step back, but the shiny black truck was right behind her.

“The point is,” she said, trying to focus on why she was angry at him, “you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

“Kissed you, without so much as a ‘hello.’”

“Right. Precisely. The proper protocol, prior to intimacy—”

Jennie stopped in mid-sentence. She sounded like an idiot. Even her alter-ego had crept away in embarrassment.

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “It’s late. And I—”

“Travis,” he said. “Travis Wilde.”

She stared at him. “Pardon me?”

He smiled. Again. And her heart jumped again.

“My name.” His voice had gone low and husky. “I’m introducing myself. That would have been the proper protocol, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And your name is …?”

“Oh.”

She swallowed hard. Again. She was not good at this. At male-female banter. At any of it.