Page 23 of Saddled in Secrets
He climbs into the front with the grace of a ballerina rather than a six-foot-five buzzkill built like a linebacker. His stare burns into my profile. “Dramatic impact?”
I glare straight ahead. “Very funny.”
“It fit the vibe. You were sneaking across the lawn like the star in an action movie.”
The fact he’s making fun of me after cancelling my plans is salt in a very raw wound. I need to pull over. Immediately.
A darkened building appears on the left. After a quick scan of our location on Chestnut Avenue, I realize it’s the feed store. At this hour, the parking lot will be blissfully empty and ideal for ditching unwanted cargo. I crank the wheel hard. The sharp turn sends Colton crashing into the window.
Thick fingers prod at a spot on his forehead. That’s probably going to bruise. “The fuck?”
“Whoops.” I lift a shoulder. “This situation has me edgy.”
He glances at Cloverleaf Cooperative, which is obviously closed. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I almost had a panic attack thanks to you.” My Audi screeches to a halt near the plant nursery. “And now, I’m dropping you off. Get out.”
“After you, Princess.”
I shoo him like a nosy stud colt crowding my space. “Go away.”
“No.”
Something cracks inside me. This shouldn’t be a battle. I shift into park and turn to face him. Our gazes lock. A spark travels between us and I shiver.
“Please, Colton. Let me do this.”
He winces, but the crack in his stony mask is gone in an instant. “I’ll go with you.”
“That defeats the purpose,” I say dejectedly. “How did you know?”
“I saw Brody and Paisley leave. You weren’t with them, regardless of what your phone’s tracking suggested.”
Damn this man and his bombproof work ethic.
“Why didn’t you just wait by my car and catch me before I got in?”
“That would’ve ruined the surprise.”
“I’m so glad my misery is amusing. You gave me false hope.”
“You gave that to yourself. Nice pipes by the way.”
My cheeks burn at the reminder of what he witnessed. “I hate you so much.”
“Doubt it.”
“Why do you insist on torturing me?”
He snorts. “You don’t know what torture is.”
“It’s relative,” I deadpan. “For me, it’s when you break into my car and ruin my attempt at solitude. Again.”
His shrug gives zero fucks. “You can’t escape me. When are you gonna learn?”
“Probably when you start to listen. I want to be alone.”
“Too bad.”
