Page 107 of Ridin’ Dirty

I’d put in a good word for him with Viv.

But no matter how busy my hands were, it didn’t make me invisible.

I heard the sound of his boots before I sensed him at my back. Still, I didn’t stop what I was doing. It wasn’t until I felt the strings of my apron coming undone that I straightened with a gasp.

“What are you doing?” I asked, reaching back to retie my bow.

He batted my hands away with a simple brush of his fingers, his opposite arm wrapping around my waist in order to pull me back against him. I sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way it felt to have his solid frame behind me—and then I smelled it.

Moss. Fresh rain. Leather.

Why did he have to smell so good?

“You’re done here. You’re comin’ with me,” he stated plainly.

“Oh, yeah? Says who?”

His lips grazed my ear as he replied, “Your husband.”

I fought the irritatingly strong urge to melt at those two words and tried to pull away from him instead. Unfortunately, my efforts amounted to nothing as he tightened his grip around me.

Lowering his voice to a possessive growl, he warned, “Angel, you want me to make a scene and carry your ass out of here, I will. Findin’ a spot for us last minute fuckin’ Labor Day weekend was a nightmare.”

I stopped resisting as I played back what he said, trying to make sense of it.

He was taking me somewhere.

Me.

Not Cherry.

Not some other woman who didn’t ice him out all night, but me.

It was stupid. It was so totally stupid—but I wanted to know where.

“What spot are you talking about?” I asked with all the attitude I could muster.

“Come with me, and you’ll find out.”

I twisted my neck enough to catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder. “Tell me and maybe I’ll come.”

“It’s cute how you keep talkin’ like you’ve got a choice. I’ll say it one more time, babe—get your purse. Let’s roll.”

I didn’t relent right away. As I hesitated, his grip tightened around my waist, signaling he had every intention of picking me up and carrying me out of there, just as he warned.

With an eye roll, I yanked at my apron and grumbled, “Fine.”

He let me go, strutting toward the exit without a backwards glance, and I pulled in a deep breath.

A smarter version of me would have told him no. I wasn’t his puppy or his beckon call girl. He couldn’t have me whenever it was convenient for him. I was angry at the man, and he hadn’t done a thing to work his way back into my good graces.

Then again, how I felt toward him paled in comparison to how I felt about myself.

It pissed me off how easily I fell for him.

I was angry for putting myself in this position again.

But the worst part was how I couldn’t deny how badly I wanted to climb on the back of his hog and go wherever he wanted to take me.