Page 118 of Return of the Bad Girl (Rock Canyon, Idaho 4)

by Candis Terry

Years ago, Chase Morgan gave up his Texas life for the fame and fortune of New York City, and he never planned on coming back—especially not for Christmas. But when his life is turned upside down, he finds himself at the door of sexy Faith Walker’s Magic Box Guest Ranch. Chase is home for Christmas, and it’s never been sweeter.

Chase had come up to stand beside her and hand her more ornaments. While most of the influential men who visited the ranch usually reeked of overpowering aftershave, Chase wore the scent of warm man and clean cotton. Tonight, when he’d shown up in a pair of black slacks and a black T- shirt, she’d had to find a composure that had nothing to do with his rescuing her.

She’d taken a fall all right.

For him.

Broken her own damn rules is what she’d done. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Men with pockets full of change they threw around like penny candy at a parade weren’t the kind she could ever be interested in.

At least never again.

Trouble was, Chase Morgan was an extremely sexy man with bedroom eyes and a smile that said he could deliver on anything he’d promise in that direction. Broad shoulders that confirmed he could carry the weight of the world if need be. And big, capable hands that had already proven they could catch her if she fell.

He was trouble.

And she had no doubt she was in trouble.

Best to keep to the subject of the charity work and leave the drooling for some yummy, untouchable movie star like Chris Hemsworth or Mark Wahlberg.

Discreetly, she moved to the other side of the tree and hung a pinecone Santa on a higher branch. “We also hold a winter fund-raiser, which is what I’m preparing for now.”

“What kind of fund-raiser?” he asked from right beside her again, with that delicious male scent tickling her nostrils.

“We hold it the week before Christmas. It’s a barn dance, bake sale, auction, and craft fair all rolled into one.” She escaped to the other side of the tree, but he showed up again, hands full of dangling ornaments. “Last year we raised $25,000. I’d like to top that this year if possible.”

“You must have a large committee to handle all that planning.”

She laughed.

Dark brows came together over those green eyes that had flashes of gold and copper near their centers. “So I gather you’re not just the receptionist-slash–tree decorator.”

“I have a few other talents I put to good use around here.”

“Now you’ve really caught my interest.”

To get away from the intensity in his gaze, she climbed up the stepstool and placed a beaded-heart ornament on the tree. She could only imagine how he probably used that intensity to cut through the boardroom bullshit.

As a rule, she never liked the clientele to know she was the sole owner of the ranch. Even though society should be living in this more open-minded century, there were those who believed it was still a man’s world.

“Oh, it’s really nothing that special,” she said. “Just some odds and ends here and there.”

When she came down the stepstool, his hands went to her waist to provide stability. At least that’s what she told herself, even after those big warm palms lingered when she’d turned around to face him.

“Fibber,” he said while they were practically nose to nose.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I do for a living, Faith? How I’ve been so successful? I read people. I come up with an idea, then I read people for how they’re going to respond. Going into a pitch, I know whether they’re likely to jump on board or whether I need to go straight to plan B.”

His grip around her waist tightened, and the fervor with which he studied her face sent a shiver racing down her spine. There was nothing threatening in his eyes or the way his thumbs gently caressed the area just above the waistband of her Wranglers.

Quite the opposite.

“You have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen,” he declared. “And when you’re stretching the truth, you can’t look someone in the eye. Dead giveaway.”

“And you’ve known me for what? All of five minutes?” she protested.

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