Page 42 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
“I have wheels, or had them before you hoofed it with my bike.”
The thought of her on the bike now that she was pregnant speared an ice pick into his gut—ironic and hypocritical since the first time he’d seen her roar up on her Ducati had been hotter than hell. He still dreamed about it. And he didn’t exactly have a desk job.
“August thought a truck would be more practical for you going between the winery and the tasting room.”
“August did?” Her whiskey-colored gaze drilled into him, and he barely restrained himself from shuffling his boots on the pavement. Damn, but he’d had bulls try to stare him down less effectively. “Then why didn’t August or Catalina deliver it?”
Why was he being such a pansy, hiding behind his brother and the mythical truck buy?
“I was coming out to see you this morning,” he said. “So I brought the new company truck.”
True, but Tinsley was the only one getting the keys.
Her gaze briefly skittered over the truck behind him and then was back on him with full intensity. Beautiful. He remembered the way her eyes would darken to a deep, honeyed gold when he would kiss her. Made him want to kiss her here on the middle of Main Street. Claim her before he took off on tour again.
As if she guessed his intention, her eyes flared with heat, and then she tilted up her chin, and her full mouth firmed a little.
Try it, she seemed to dare.
Made his dick stir.
And an answering heat, a call to warriors, sang through his blood. Damn, but she was beautiful with her coppery flow of hair and creamy skin with the light smattering of freckles on her upper cheeks.
Complicated and challenging had not figured on his perfect wife list.
“I bet the gas mileage sucks.”
He fought the urge to smile. “You can drive sedately.”
“In your dreams.”
“You driving like an old lady is not what I dream about.” He let his eyes drift down her body. That shirt hugged her breasts and the peek-a-boo whatever it was called around the neck that showed off glimpses of her creamy flesh made his mouth water.
“You’ll have to keep your dreams to yourself.”
“Or not. I’m generous when the mood strikes.”
He saw her eyes flare and her breathing was heightened. He wanted to drag her back to the tasting room, lock the door and kiss her until they both forgot their names. Tempting. But his brother and Catalina were due to arrive to help organize the wine and do whatever else needed to be done in the tasting room. The construction crew had finally pulled out day before yesterday.
“The truck is different from the two vineyard trucks I saw when Catalina toured me around the vineyard yesterday,” she said softly, her lips a sensuous invitation.
Or probably that was just the way he saw everything about Tinsley—an invitation. And definitely a challenge.
“Platinum version Ford F250.” He couldn’t help himself. “A touch more sophisticated detailing than the Ford King Ranch trucks we have at Ghost Hill.”
“Sophisticated?”
“More for city driving.”
Tinsley looked left and right up and down the handful of blocks that made up Last Stand. Her arms crossed over her body, lifting her breasts a little and offering a more generous peek of her creamy, lightly freckled mounds through the lacy whatever of her soft cotton shirt that was the color of her hair. Beautiful. Dutifully he jerked his fascinated and hungry gaze back north where it belonged. This was important.
“So that’s how August plans to brand Verflucht? A touch of city sophistication in the heart of Hill Country?” Her husky voice that had always aroused him and made him want to hear her speak more, had dropped even deeper into an exaggerated drawl.
“No idea. That’s up to you, I’ve been told.”
He stared down at her from his few inches of extra height. He liked that he didn’t have to bend down to kiss her—just lean into her inviting body. And her vivid coloring drew him in—deep copper hair, matching brows and eyelashes and other parts he’d seen and touched and tasted—he broke off, feeling way too heated in the late morning early fall sun.
“It’s red.”
