Page 96 of Trigger Happy

The audience erupts, but I cheer louder than them all.

Lawton hops off the horse, landing on his feet without a scratch on him. The cowboy in a professional-looking vest walks into the arena to hand Lawton a trophy that looks like a belt buckle, while another rider quickly lassos the bronc and leads it back into the chute. Lawton waves off the guy with the trophy buckle and scans the bleachers where we were sitting. His brows draw together at the empty seats, and I swear he looks disappointed.

I stick two fingers between my lips and let out a sharp wolf whistle. His head instantly jerks to me, and he smiles, but then he sees the guy standing next to me and scowls.

Bobbi sucks in a breath. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look.”

Lawton’s long legs eat the distance between us. I barely have time for a nice job, cowboy before he cups the nape of my neck and drags me away from the guy and into his warm chest.

“I win,” he murmurs.

And then his lips crash down on mine.

It’s not a delicate kiss this time. It’s a hungry, possessive, teeth-knocking one that has people whooping and wolf-whistling. His tongue sweeps across my mouth, coaxing out a moan I don’t mean to let slip, and then he’s lifting me over the metal fence and into his arms, careful not to jostle my shoulder. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he grips my thighs, holding me tight as the crowd cheers for us in the middle of the arena for all the world to see.

There’s no hiding.

No faking.

My heart feels incandescent, like I’m glowing from the inside out and everyone can see.

Lawton brushes his lips against mine again, softer, dragging out our kiss, but I’m still burning. Then he pulls back and that cocky grin melts into this sun-dipped smile that’s going to send me into cardiac arrest.

“Sorry you won’t get your yacht,” he says. “But if I’m being honest, I’ve never been so determined to stay on a bucking bronc.”

“All for a kiss?” I tease.

“Yeah. I wanted the whole damn world to see.”

There’s that glow again.

I’m in so much trouble.

45Sabrina

Are you sure Ella’s Trinkets is open today?” I say from the passenger seat. “It isn’t like, National Cowboy Day or something?”

“Nah, that’s the fourth Saturday of July,” Lawton says, one hand draped on the steering wheel, the other holding a doughnut.

“I’m not surprised you know that.”

He bites into the doughnut and moans. “Gets better every time.”

This morning I bought Lawton two Pumpkin Cinnamon Glazers in preparation for our four-hour trek into Bozeman. We have less than a week before this job ends, and the client is asking for more information, so I’m not leaving the shop until I talk to someone who recognizes the ring.

He licks the icing off his fingertips, and I stare for far too long. His lips curl up like he knows I’m watching. Since the rodeo last night, it’s like he’s trying to call my bluff. He stripped out of his T-shirt extra slowly, grunted through an ab workout before bed, he even rubbed his body down with lotion.

Bastard, I think, smiling.

He reaches behind him into the cooler he packed to pull out a fresh ice pack. The truck doesn’t even sway a millimeter.

“Switch,” he commands, holding it out while keeping his eyes on the sprawling highway. Mountain ranges cradle us on either side.

I take the ice pack.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” he asks.

“A lot better,” I admit. “I can almost move it without pain.”