Page 70 of Riding the Storm
She checks her computer again, typing way too slowly. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re at capacity until next week.”
“What about a nearby hotel?” I ask, and she gives me a sympathetic smile. “Every hotel in the area is full. The rodeo brings in a lot of folks. Plus, Garrett Tuttle is in town all week.”
I glance back at Bryce, who looks smug as hell. “What about another hotel in the next town over?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “You could try, but with the rodeo—”
“The rodeo’s in town,” I finish flatly.
She nods. Then she leans in and whispers, “Exactly. And honestly, ifI were you, I wouldn’t complain about being stuck in a room with Bryce Raintree.”
Bryce’s brow arches, and I swear I can feel my face turning every shade of red.
“You know who he is, right?” she asks.
“Of course. I’m traveling with him,” I say.
Her eyes flicker up to him, and then she leans forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. “If it were me, I’d have kept the king bed.”
I bite back a groan. “Fantastic. Thanks for all your help.”
Bryce takes the key cards, trying hard not to laugh.
“Not. A. Word,” I warn him as we head for the elevator.
He lifts his hands innocently. “Didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
We ride the elevator to our floor.
The room’s decent—neutral tones, two queen beds, a window overlooking the pool. Bryce tosses his bag on the desk while I stop just inside the door and take a deep breath.
“I get the bed near the window,” I say.
He glances from me to the identical beds. “Does it matter?”
I squint at him. “Of course it does. You have to sleep in the one closest to the door. In case someone breaks in.”
His eyes light with amusement. “So I get attacked first?”
“Duh, you’re big and strong. You can fight them off,” I say as I lower the handle and pick up my suitcase, heading for the farthest bed.
He meets me and takes the heavy bag from my hands, dipping to look me in the eye. “I got you, darlin’. I promise I won’t let any bad guys get to you.”
A shiver crawls down my spine at his words.
“I call the shower first,” I say quickly. Needing a little space.
He smirks as he drops my bag on the edge of my mattress. “Go ahead.”
I grab the essentials and lock myself inside the spacious bathroom. I take my time getting ready, partly out of stubbornness, partly because the evening’s event—a dinner with Dry Canyon Distilling—is at the 360 Restaurant. I looked the place up earlier, and it’s fine dining. I don’t attend too many fancy affairs, and the thought makes me nervous.
I curl my hair, then pull it to one side with a gold clip, swipe on softmakeup, and slide into the gown I packed last-minute—peach-colored, one-shouldered, mesh overlay, high slit. Elegant, but still me. I pair it with my tan cowgirl boots because stilettos are not in my vocabulary.
When I step out, Bryce’s reflection in the mirror nearly undoes me.
He’s in black from head to toe—jeans, dress shirt, sports coat, and that damn cowboy hat. The only splash of color is his tan belt with an engraved gold PBR World Finals buckle. His beard is trimmed close, and his hair is brushed back. When he glances at me, my pulse flat-out forgets how to function. The man looks good in a sweat-soaked T-shirt and worn-out jeans, but, damn, this works too.
