Page 42 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

“Hannah, listen to me.” He tilted my chin up with his index finger. “There’s only one rule. You say yes when you want to say yes, and no when you want to say no. That’s it. As for sharing a room, I’m in favor of the option that keeps your body as close to mine as possible, but if you want a door between us, then I’ll accept that without much fuss.”

I flushed, thinking about long hours with our bodies close together. “It would be cheaper to share a room.”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re not paying for a damn thing on this trip, Hannah, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about that. Now, what else do you need? We should get back on the road.”

I peered into his basket. “You’re done already?”

“I’ve got a t-shirt, some underwear, a razor, and condoms. I’m good to go.”

“I haven’t gotten clothes yet,” I admitted. I’d been too busy freaking out over the condoms, which was ridiculous. I’d never bought condoms before, but I’d always insisted on using them, so it wasn’t like it was anything new to me. There was no reason to treat this trip as anything but what it was. It didn’t have tomeansomething just because we were sharing a hotel room and having sex.

“Then let’s go do that.” He nudged my shoulders in the direction of women’s clothing.

With a sigh, I turned my attention to the arduous process of finding something to wear. Everything here was so far out of my comfort zone. Jeans, short skirts, tops meant to entice rather than hide. The winter sweaters had been banished, and it was all summer clothes now.

I tossed a five-pack of black cotton underwear and a six-pack of socks into my basket and then scooped up two pairs of jeans in different sizes to see what would fit.

“I’m going to try these on,” I said, holding up the jeans. “Can you watch my basket?”

With a nod, he took my basket from me, and I disappeared into the dressing room. Both pairs fit well enough. The smaller size clung to my thighs and butt. The larger size didn’t cling so much, but the waist was loose enough that they rode lower on my hips. I tried to imagine myself walking around, wearing one or the other, and realized I wasn’t going to feel comfortable in either, so I eenie-meenie-minie-mo’ed it and left the loser behind in the dressing room.

Zack was waiting for me, but he wasn’t waiting alone. A woman was with him, looking up at him with surprised delight like she had discovered the Hope Diamond in the clearance bin. He smiled down at her, no doubt noticing the ample cleavage being served up by her low-cut tank top. I couldn’t blame her for serving and I couldn’t blame him for looking. Her breastswere fabulous, and, unlike me, she seemed to be perfectly comfortable in her own skin.

Feeling bad about myself—and feeling bad about feeling bad, because I thought I’d made peace with all this a long time ago—I pretended I didn’t see them and turned toward the t-shirts. Two should be enough. How dirty could I really get sitting in a truck all day?

“Hannah.” Zack’s voice boomed across the women’s section. “Over here.”

Rats. Now I was going to have to stand next to her. Like my self-esteem hadn’t suffered enough already.

Heaving a sigh, I added a plain black t-shirt and a plain pink t-shirt to the jeans, then turned to face my doom. The woman watched me approach with a perplexed expression.

“This is the woman you’re shopping with?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Zack confirmed, his eyes crinkling as he looped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. “Toss your stuff in, duchess. Let’s get this show on the road.”

The woman eyed me head to toe, her bafflement only increasing, then gave a small shake of her head. “Lucky.”

Zack squeezed my hip. “Don’t I know it,” he said, like he hadno ideashe meantIwas the lucky one. He tipped the brim of his hat to her. “Thanks for your help.”

Oh, I justbetshe was helpful. Not that I blamed her.

I saw her take one last lingering, wistful look at him as he steered me toward the registers. I didn’t blame her for that, either.

16

ZACK

“Ican’t leave you alone for five minutes,” Hannah said sourly as we left the store with our supplies.

I smirked. She sure was cute when she was jealous. And jealous was exactly what she was, even though she’d deny it with her dying breath. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but I wasn’t above enjoying the results. “Can I help it if women like to talk to me?”

“No,” she sighed. “You can’t. You’re a rake.”

I took that in stride. Hannah was always speaking metaphorically, and I only ever understood half of it. “I am not a rake. If I’m any kind of tool, it’s a plow.”

“No, I mean—” She broke off with a laugh as she got the joke. I grinned, pleased with myself. “Like in a historical romance novel. A rake is a man who is popular with women and sleeps around. You’re a rake and I’m a wallflower. Wallflowers are invisible.”

Now I knew what she was talking about, thanks to the books I’d perused on her shelf. I took her bag and slid it with mine in the narrow space behind our seats in the truck. “Good.”

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