Page 9 of Too Hot To Handle

She finished the ride to the ranch in absolute silence, counting all the ways it was possible to drown an over-sized, under-mannered cowboy.

Reever and Tory rode into the ranch house yard with identical, tight-lipped expressions on their faces. Reever had the edge, though. His black hat, black hair and the harshly masculine lines of his face gave him a distinctly satanic look that Tory’s wide-eyed, delicately triangular face couldn’t hope to equal. Her eyes, however, matched the devil’s in the emotion that made them burn like green flames. By the time the ranch came into sight, Tory had counted sixty-three improbable ways for her to drown a rude cowboy, but she hadn’t yet decided how to manage even one of them without couching Reever.

That she refused to do. After she got off Blackjack, she never intended to touch Ethan Reever again.

Tory’s stomach growled miserably, audibly, beneath Reever’s muscular arm. He cursed under his breath as he realized that she probably hadn’t had time for breakfast and certainly hadn’t eaten lunch. Then there was always the possibility that, even if she had had the time, she hadn’t had the money to buy food. Close up, her clothes were even more frayed than he had first thought.

And there were streaks of blood where barbs had bitten into her tender flesh.

Reever didn’t know whether to yell at Tory for being so stupid or to gently lick her as clean as a mother cat would a kitten. One thing he did know – he didn’t feel the least bit parental toward Victoria Wells. It had driven him crazy to feel her firm little rump rocking between his thighs. He didn’t even feel guilty about her cuts and scrapes anymore. He might not look it, but he was in a lot worse shape than she was. He was steel hard and hot as hell, and his guts were tied in knots from wanting a soft, useless girl with scratches on her back and palms like hamburger. He’d suffered the tortures of the damned on the ride home and had no sympathy to spare for a sweet young thing who wreaked havoc on every male in sight.

Reever cursed softly, steadily, fluently, letting Tory know with each word how very happy he would be to get her off his lap and out of his hair. She ignored him. She had heard a lot of dark muttering during the ride and had promised herself that she would say nothing until she reached the dubious safety of the ranch. Then she would tell Reever just what she thought of him. As the ranch house drew near, she only wished that she had spent more of the ride choosing killing words rather than ways of killing, period.

Blackjack stopped in front of the main corral. Tory’s stomach growled vigorously.

„God above,“ muttered Reever as Tory’s stomach rumbled and rumbled and rumbled beneath his arm, „now I suppose you expect me to feed you before I send you to town.“

Tory’s mouth flattened even more. „Why shouldn’t you feed me?“ she asked curtly. „You owe me.“

„Yeah? How do you figure that?“ asked Reever as he dismounted.

The easy power of Reever’s movements only made Tory more angry. She knew that her legs weren’t going to support her. After she dismounted, she was going to go flat on her face in a sprawl that would only underline Reever’s opinion of her.Clumsy. Useless. City girl.She gritted her teeth. Why should she care what that muscle-bound, icy-eyed son of Satan thought? She should go down on her knees in the dust and give thanks that she wasn’t his type!

„I figure you owe me lunch because you’ve taken enough bites out of me during the ride for a nine-course meal,“ Tory said, glaring down at Reever with slitted green eyes.

„Honey,“ he said coolly, giving her a slow, dangerous, once-over kind of look, „if I’d been nibbling on you, you wouldn’t be complaining now – and you sure as hell wouldn’t be hungry.“

The sensual impact of Reever’s eyes and smile made Tory feel as though she were being stroked. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard and muttered, „I thought cowboys were shy, modest and had a vocabulary consisting of ‘giddy up’ and ‘aw, shucks.’ But not you, Ethan Reever. You’re as proud as Lucifer, and your vocabulary is fully suited to hell.“

Reever’s mouth turned up in a smile that was very male and frankly threatening. „Keep pushing, green eyes,“ he said, his voice low, deep. „You’ll find out just how hard a man I am.“

Blackjack sighed loudly and shifted his weight, hinting that he would like to be in the corral and out from under the saddle.

At the horse’s first motion Tory grabbed wildly at the saddle horn, only to wince as her raw palms met leather. Reever cursed softly at the sign of Tory’s pain. He jerked off his hat and swept his fingers through his shaggy hair to keep from reaching for her. As she sat up shakily, he yanked his dusty black Stetson back into place, grateful that he wouldn’t have to touch her again. The feel of her soft, supple body would tie so many knots in him that he’d be lucky to stand up straight for a week.

„Get off poor Blackjack so he can get some food,“ said Reever. „He’s as tired as I am.“

„I don’t know what you’re complaining about,“ retorted Tory, delaying the inevitable moment when she would dismount and land in an ungainly heap at Reever’s big feet. „You don’t ache from your knees to your, uh – “

„Honey, I ache in places you can’t even imagine.“ He watched color climb up Tory’s cheeks as his words registered. He laughed softly. „Penny for your thoughts,“ he offered with a slow smile.

„Go away,“ Tory said, spacing each word carefully.

„Can’t,“ he said blandly, but beneath his mustache his lips quirked over a hidden smile. „You might need me.“

„Like a sidewinder needs ice skates,“ she said succinctly.

„A sidewinder isn’t going to get all rubber-legged from an hour on horseback.“

„A sidewinder doesn’t have – “

„Legs,“ interrupted Reever. „Real quick for a city girl, aren’t you? Come on, honey. Get it over with. Or can’t you even get down alone?“

Tory looked at Reever and brought her running total to sixty-four ways to drown a grinning cowboy. That made her feel better, but it didn’t solve the problem of transferring her weight from Blackjack’s back to her own feet. She shifted slowly, trying to dismount as Reever had by swinging her right leg over Blackjack’s broad rump. As her leg came halfway over, she fished around with her left foot, trying to find the stirrup. It was a long reach because the stirrup length was set for Reever’s six-feet-three-inch height.

Belatedly Tory realized that she should have secured her left foot in the stirrup before she started to dismount. It was too late now, though. Her right leg was bumping over Blackjack’s rump, her left foot was treading air and saddle leather was racing through her slippery hands. Suddenly her left foot found the stirrup, only to slide right on through the opening as her hands slipped completely off the saddle. The world spun crazily as her left foot went all the way through the open stirrup. She landed flat on her back with enough force to knock out her breath.

Blackjack, who was used to a higher order of skill in his riders, was so surprised that he shied away. Tory was yanked with him because her foot was wedged through the stirrup. Even as the horse moved, Reever leaped for the bridle and hauled Blackjack up short.