Page 19 of Stormswept Colorado

“Actually, I can.” I backed her up against the wall, my palms pressing to either side of her to cage her in. “You’re out of danger. Take a moment. Breathe.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Her deep green eyes glinted with fury.

“Are you all right? Did one of those assholes out there hurt you?” My focus raked down her body, scanning for injuries. She had on a long coat and a soft-looking dress that flared out at her waist and ended above her knees, revealing plenty of tan, shapely leg. Her smooth skin disappeared into a pair of cowboy boots. The leather was broken-in like she wore them a lot.

“Could you give me a little space? Or is that too much to ask? Assuming you’re done ogling me.”

“I wasn’togling.” But I did drop my arms and stepped back, keeping myself in front of the door in case she tried to make abreak for it again. Or maybe claw me with those pointy pink nails. “Just assessing if you’re hurt. That’s my job.”

“Just your job. Not like you really care.”

“Of course I care.” I swallowed down my protest, regaining my calm.You could try being grateful, I thought, but managed to keep that comment to myself. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“I’m not hurt. But my driver Bryan is. He got punched in the face, and he’s still out there. He was trying to protect me.”

Did she mean that big guy with the bloody nose? My insides did a weird shimmy. “My officers are sorting things out. They’ll call paramedics. It’s better if you stay put. If I take you back out there right now, it’ll cause more of a scene.”

Her scowl deepened, but she didn’t disagree.

There was something magnetic about Ayla Maxwell. Most of the world knew that already. I’d seen it in her music videos and photos of her online. Seen it the times that we’d crossed paths before.

Magnetic, and also frustrating. Because she took offense at every little thing I said or did.

But with her skin flushed and her chest heaving and her intense gaze locked on mine, I had never seen anything so breathtaking.

My radio squawked. “Chief, come in.”

Lifting one arm, I tapped the button at my shoulder. “Chief here. I’ve got Ms. Maxwell secured in the market. Stand by.” Then I brought my eyes back to Ayla’s face. “What happened?” I asked. “How did this start?”

“You’re blaming me, aren’t you?”

“Did I say I was blaming you?”

“It’s obvious. You hate me. Every time we’ve met, you’ve made it clear that you don’t want me in Silver Ridge.”

My eyebrows lifted. “I’m not the one flipping people the bird unprovoked on a public street.”

Ayla flinched. “I guess that wasn’t my finest moment.” She sat on the closed toilet seat lid. “I can’t believe this.”

I leaned against the wall. “Not a typical afternoon for me either.”

“You don’t lock women in bathrooms with you on any given Thursday?”

“I prefer to lock women in bathrooms with me on Saturdays.”

Ayla almost snickered before remembering herself.

I pressed my lips together to stifle my own urge to laugh. None of this was funny.

The setting was pretty absurd, though. A painted wooden sign across from the toilet said,Go with the flow. Frilly curtains hung over the high window, and a wallpaper border near the ceiling featured dancing gnomes. At least Rosie’s employees kept the place scrupulously clean.

We were both quiet for several breaths. I crossed my arms, shifting from one boot to the other. “Can you tell me what happened?” I asked again.

She cleared her throat. “Um, Bryan and I were going to do some shopping. Some college guys were cat-calling me from across the street. Making rude gestures.”

The muscle at my jaw pulsed. Those little shits. “Not locals, I’m guessing?”

She frowned. “Why is that important?”

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