Page 6 of Stud Ranch

“Step. Down,” Dylan grated out.

“Fine.” The tendon in the crease of his tight jaw fluttered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as though he forced back a bellow. Then he spun on his heel and strode out.

The thunder of his footsteps rolled through the auditorium. He hit the door and the gray light of day lit the auditorium before the door slammed shut behind him.

Dylan had no time to dwell on what the hell was going on with his friend and one-time lover. He had to rescue Sloane off that stage like the chivalrous cowboy she expected him to be.

Leaping the steps, he hit the stage. She looked up, eyes wide. He did the only thing he could think of to replace that worry on her face with a smile.

He did a backflip.

A loud hoot echoed through the auditorium, followed by applause.

“Go get her, Dylan!” someone shouted.

A shrill catcall sounded. Dylan moved forward, hand outstretched to Sloane. When she shyly slipped her feminine hand into his palm, and lifted her gaze to his, his heart skipped a beat.

Oh damn. No wonder this one affected Shaw so much. She was affecting him the same way.

He recovered, ready to focus only on her. “Welcome to The Boot Knockers Ranch, pretty lady. Right this way.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her offstage.

“Sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart.” He stopped in the shadows and turned to her.

She chewed at her full bottom lip.

The need to soothe her like a wild filly about to bolt from fear took hold.

He slipped his knuckle beneath the dainty point of her chin and raised her face to meet his gaze. “I promise I’m one hundred and fifty percent focused on you from this moment forward. My name’s Dylan, and we’re gonna have one hell of a fun week.”

Chapter Two

“Here we are. Bungalow 12. My personal favorite.” Dylan opened the quaint door of the log cabin for Sloane to enter first.

She stepped in, breathing in the clean scent of real pine, not the chemical facsimile, and what smelled like cinnamon rolls. She almost laughed. On the application, she answered cinnamon rolls to the question about her favorite food. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she drifted into the living space. It was open and airy, decorated in deep green with wood accents.

“It’s very cozy.” She looked to Dylan. Again, she found him watching her. That focus he promised her wasn’t something she’d only noticed when he led her off the stage—she saw it during their short ride from the harbor.

His eyes weren’t any old shade of brown. They were hickory and oak, and the warmth of maple syrup. Eyes that could send many a woman to her knees.

Of course, that made her think of what sort of fun happened on her knees, and heat climbed her throat to settle in her cheeks.

He stepped forward, a crooked smile quirking his manly lips. When he lifted a hand to cradle her cheek, swiping his callused thumb over the blush she knew was there, her heart pattered a little faster.

“I think us being together calls for celebration. Champagne?”

She smiled. “That sounds nice.” She couldn’t recall the last time she drank an adult beverage.

“The rain stopped. What do you say about taking a little walk around the ranch? We’ll pop a bottle and watch the sun set.”

“Sounds perfect.” That would be an ideal icebreaker, something she needed. The thought of being cooped up alone in the bungalow with a stranger who she’d paid to wine, dine and…romance her…gave her a case of the jitters.

As he strolled to the kitchen area, she watched him. He moved with an easy, loping grace. His muscled form was a nod to the hard work he obviously put in around the ranch. Not to mention all the hip thrusts and pushups they did over the women who came here.

The gray plaid shirt he wore stretched over his shoulders with each rolling step he took. And his ass in those tight Wrangler jeans…

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