Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“It’s not mine,” Rand informed him. “I’m cleanin’ Glenn up.”
“What’re you doin’?”
“I’m fixin’ to stitch him up, Maclain,” Rand said sarcastically. “What the hell does it look like?”
“Yeah, okay.” Mac coughed. “Just be careful.”
“Be careful?”
“Please.”
Momentary silence before Rand said, “Mac?” He sounded confused.
“Yeah. What do you— Zach, move, lemme in there.”
“Mac, I can take care of—”
“Just slide over.”
“What are you doing?”
I heard a throat clearing, and Zach’s hands were replaced with one bigger one sinking into my hair and massaging my scalp. Another touched my side, warm and strong and callused, sliding languorously over my skin.
“Mac?” Rand asked.
“What?” he said gruffly.
“Something you wanna tell me?”
“I reckon not.”
“Okay,” Rand said, and then the cleaning was rougher, faster, but it was fine because it didn’t hurt in the least.
Lulled by the languid stroking of my hair, I was asleep seconds later.
“Glenn.”
I jolted awake, but a gentle hand on my shoulder quieted me, and when I looked up, squinting in the light, found myself staring into a gorgeous set of quicksilver eyes.
“Maclain?” I said, making a conscious decision to use his full name to keep whatever warm, quiet intimacy we had between us going. He was there, with me, beside me, sitting on one of those folding chairs, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off his big, hard body, and because I’d always dreamed of having him in my space, and now he was, I didn’t want to do anything to disturb the delicate peace.
He cleared his throat. “Since when?”
“What?” I croaked.
“Why ‘Maclain’?” he asked, his voice a lazy, sexy rumble.
I held his gaze. “You’re treating me nice, so I figured I shouldn’t use the name of the guy who hates me.”
“So Mac hates you?”
I nodded.
“No,” he corrected with a sigh. “I don’t hate you.”
“Seems like it.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice bottoming out as he leaned down closer to me. “From now on you use Maclain so you know the difference.”
I smiled. “That sounds good.”
“So. How ya feel?”
“I’m all right. How long was I out?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“I can ride,” I assured him, getting ready to sit up.
His hand on my shoulder kept me where I was. “Just lie there for a bit longer. Everyone’s still eatin’. We can’t push these folks like we can our own.”
That made sense, but I would have argued that I needed to get up and help do whatever, when he reached out and pushed my hair out of my face. I had no idea something so simple could make my heart race and my pulse jump, and even though both of those sensations, reactions, were brand new, they were also not a surprise where Mac was concerned. I had always wanted him, and having the object of my desire touch me…of course I was going to come apart. But even if it was possible and men did it for Mac, as well as women, I was afraid of submitting for two very specific reasons: Would I still be me? That was the inside, mental part. And how much would it hurt? That was the outside, physical part. But if there was one man I would ever consider going ass up for, it was Mac Gentry.
“Is Rand pissed at me?” I managed to get out.
“Actually, he’s madder at himself for leaving you alone. I think we all thought someone else was back there with you.”
His hand was so warm, and the thought hit me that I wanted it much, much lower. “Maclain?”
He grunted softly.
“You know you’re touchin’ me, right?”
“I do,” he whispered, and his easy grin made me catch my breath.
This was so dangerous. He was trouble for me, and I should have gotten up and run. The smart thing to do was to put a lot of real estate between me and the gorgeous, sexy man with the sinful mouth and wicked glint to his eyes, but holy God, he smelled good. How did a man smell like that after a full day in the saddle? Like leather and smoke, a trace of soap, and sun on his skin. I wanted to inhale him, press my face to the side of his neck and taste him even as my brain screamed at me that it was a mistake. He didn’t know what he was doing by allowing this present communion because he had no clue what was really going on in my head or what I truly wanted from him.
“Maclain,” I whispered and found that his name sounded good coming out of my mouth.
He grunted again.
“How come?” I fished, swallowing hard.
“How come what?”
“You know.”
“Why ya think?”
He really had a great smile. It crinkled the deep laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and curled the corners of his mouth. He was very handsome. Not the breathtaking kind or the movie-star kind, but rugged, like he could have been a sheriff in the Old West. He seemed concrete, strong, and man, did I need some of that. It was really too bad he wasn’t for me.