Page 76 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

The jerk.

“Very interesting. So you help people manage money?”

“People. Gigantic corporations. It’s not like I’m helping random citizens balance their checkbooks.” Oh, there was ice-cold bitch! Something about Zack the Cowboy seemed to bring it out. Along with an unhealthy bit of churning in her stomach.

“So if someone had investments, et cetera.”

“Got investments?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“No,” he said, leaning in slightly, whiskey-colored eyes clashing with hers, making it hard for her to breathe, “I’m the type who would have cows in the trunk of a cab in the middle of Manhattan.”

“You have to admit,” she said, her throat tightening, making it impossible for her to speak, “you’re a little out of place.”

“I feel perfectly comfortable. You’re the one who seems uncomfortable with me. What does that mean, do you think?” he asked, the side of his mouth quirking upward into one extremely cocky smile.

“I don’t know. I suppose the fox is never uncomfortable in the henhouse?”

His grin broadened. “Are you saying I’m a...predator? Among chickens?”

“Just trying a little animal analogy for your benefit, pardner. We’re New Yorkers, even if we are chickens, you come into our henhouse and we’ll mess you up.”

He laughed and she felt an answering smile tugging at her lips. “See? Isn’t this more fun than work email?”

Yes. Dammit.

“I live for work emails.”

“Well, I can’t compete with that.”

Dear Lord, was he flirting with her? She didn’t have a lot of experience with non-sketchy flirting. Most of it came in the form of overbearing, threatening comments that had a greasy film coating the words. It always made her feel violent. Of course, her response was typically just to sit there with her hands tightly folded.

This was different. She wanted to respond to this, rather than punch him in the face. Which was stupid. They were just sharing a cab to her office. And after that she wouldn’t ever see him again. Much less make good on any of the flirting.

Which was just as well, because hadn’t she just been celebrating her freedom from male tyranny in her personal life?

Yes...yes, she had.

Though, a little male tyranny in bed might be nice....

No. No, no, no. Maybe other women did that sort of thing, but she did not. She wasn’t a one-night-stand girl. She wasn’t a sex-for-the-sake-of-sex sort of girl.

She didn’t have time for that kind of stuff, plus, the idea of kissing a stranger, much less getting naked with him, was just a big fat no-go for her. That was for other types of people. Frivolous, irresponsible people. Like her sister, for example, who had left morals, common sense, clothing and all else by the wayside. And Grace had seen where that led.

There would be none of that.

She looked back at Zack and a sizzle of electricity skipped over her skin, making her feel tingly. And...it was a lot like her skin crawling. Just with heat instead of disgust.

Was she really, honestly thinking about sex in connection with a stranger in a cab? There was something wrong with her. Long work hours and a lack of sleep, or something.

It had been six months since Mark moved out, and she honestly hadn’t missed him—or his body—much. The split had been as gentle and amicable as the entirety of the relationship.

They’d sort of drifted into a relationship, then back out. And the best thing about drifting out of the relationship was that she hadn’t felt obligated to help him move out. Unlike when she’d been trying to impress him.

Lifting giant boxes with her spindly T. rex arms was pretty low on her list of things to do.

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