Page 2 of Long Hard Ride
It isn’t like me to be confused. Not ever. I’m a grown man who knows what he wants, and a twenty-one-year-old filly ain’t it. Yet every fucking bone in my body, including the one between my legs, is telling me Brooke Carlisle isthe one.
“Shane McCallum West,” the preacher begins in a somber, serious voice.
I think I’m going to pass out.
***
ITURN OFF MY PHONEand steal a quick peek at Shane. There’s a bead of perspiration over his left eyebrow. Thank God I’m not the only one sweating bullets around here.
My heart is thumping, but not in its usual pattern. It’s more of a thump, thump, thurumpthurump—probably due to being scared shitless.
On the other hand, Shane McCallum Westispretty thrilling. My body sure as hell thinks so. I haven’t seen him in years, and I’m already wet. Holy shit, did he turn out fine, with that black hair and those killer eyes. He’s built like a tank, with one of those chiseled-to-perfection jaws. All muscles and swagger, he’s every dangerous-cowboy fantasy I’ve ever gotten off to.
“And now, you may kiss the bride,” the preacher says.
Shit’s getting real.
My hands are slicked with sweat. I hold my breath as Shane levels his piercing blue eyes at me from under his black hat.Black.The man wears all black to his wedding. Who does that?
“Are we really going to kiss?” I ask, feeling my face heat. I cannot believe I just said that out loud. What the hell? Just because they kiss every time they say that in the movies doesn’t mean it’s supposed to happen now.
Shane leaves my question floating like a feather in the air, as if he didn’t hear what I said. Then his massive shoulders relax, and he zeros in on me. My heart jumps. I wasn’t expecting him to seriously kiss me. But it looks like he wants to. Oh, my. He’s coming in... Shane’s six-foot-a-whole-lot-of-something muscled frame bends.
Warmth pours off his broad chest. He smells like spicy pine, buttery leather, and something scary good. He angles his rugged, dreamy face and brings his beautiful full lips close to mine. Sheltered under his hat, I lean in for the kiss. My whole body is tensed up in knots. It’s like I’m in suspended animation, waiting and waiting, and then... his lips rush past mine and he gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
“Well, I can tell right now that this marriage isn’t going to be any fun at all.”Shit, I’m talking again.I remind myself to pull it together and shut up before I make this situation any worse.
He looks surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
But do I listen to myself? Of course not. “You heard me,” I scold, shaking my head with fake confidence. “Can’t even kiss your wife on the lips on your wedding day.”
Gramps laughs.
Shane clasps my elbow, sending a thousand jolts through my bloodstream.
“What?”
“I’d like a word with you, in private.”
“Fine.” I feel my cheeks heat up with humiliation. I duck my head, so he doesn’t notice how flushed I am, and trail his big boots into the kitchen
Shane leans his hunky-ass self against the counter opposite me. I stay away from him, near the sink. We’re both half leaning, half standing, in a showdown. I had a little crush on him when I was kid. He used to work here in the summers for my granddad. I’m sure I even fantasized about marrying him once or twice, but not like this.
“This is total bullshit,” I say, sounding far more bold than I feel. “I have my own life, you know. I was accepted to Piltson Art School. I was supposed to start class in Chicago tomorrow.”
Shane stares at me. “If you think I asked for this, you are sadly mistaken. And about you wanting me to kiss you back there, I’m sorry to say that won’t be happening, sweetheart.”
“I never said Iwantedyou to kiss me.” I’m grasping at straws here, but he’s acting like he’s God’s gift to women. Even if he is, he doesn’t have to rub it in. “I was merely asking if we weresupposedto kiss. Maybe it was a requirement. How do I know? I’ve never been married before.”
“Neither have I,” he says evenly. “And if we want a clean break after our six months is over, we need to keep our distance. That way, in September we can get divorced and go our separate ways without you having any messy emotional-attachment issues.”
“You thinkI’mgoing to become attached toyou?” I’m practically stuttering and sound like a shrew, but who does he think he is? “If anything, you’ll be the one who’ll become attached to me.”
“I highly doubt that, baby girl. I’m a lot older than you—you’ll just have to trust me on that score.” Shane straightens, and even though I’m speechless, I can still gawk. I just can’t help it, damnit. My eyes roam up from his sexy black boots to his fitted dress pants and... Holy hell. He’s carrying an extra-large piece, if you will, on the left. Definitely.
I quickly catch myself and look away. “You’re not my type.”
“Whatever you say.” Shane gives me a mischievous grin, like he knows he’s exactly my type. He keeps me hooked in his eye-snare as he passes me on the way to Gramps’s old yellow refrigerator.
