fifteen minutes, I promise."
She concentrated on her work, pausing a few minutes later to push at the sleeve on her oversize sweatshirt. One with the bar's logo, not Gage's sweat jacket. That was buried in her backpack. And as soon as she got home it was going to the bottom of her closet.
A quick glance at her watch told her it was almost 2:00 a.m. Wow, she hadn't known it was that late. Crashing on the battered leather couch against the far wall wasn't an option. No, she had to go home because—
A muffled, steady clapping caused Racy to jump.
She swung around. Gage. He leaned against the door frame, his Stetson and jacket stained from wet snow. Cheeks ruddy from the cold, his lips pressed in a hard line as he continued a measured applause.
"Cut it out. You scared the crap out of me." Was she as breathless as she sounded? "How did you get—ah, Max. Look, I know Gina working here has you twisted six ways from Sunday, but I've already told you she's staying."
He'd stopped clapping and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "She told me the same thing on the ride home. I was heading to my place when I saw your car in the parking lot. Come on, I'll give you a lift."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't have snow tires. I checked. Got chains in the trunk?"
She didn't speak, knowing her silence gave him his answer.
"That's what I figured." He entered her office. "Besides, you've been drinking."
Racy glanced at the glass. "That's only—"
"I don't care what it is. Mixed with the shot you had earlier, it's two drinks too many."
She frowned in confusion until she realized he was talking about the shot glass of apple juice.
Hmm, so he had seen everything . She should be happy, but deep inside she wondered if it mattered. He probably wouldn't give two whiffs if she'd stripped down to nothing and got it on with the first cowboy to cross her path.
Of course, the last cowboy she'd gotten skin-to-skin with was standing right in front of her.
"Oh, please, like you're worried about me." She turned back to the monitor, but fatigue overcame her. It was time to go home. In her own car. Three clicks and the computer started its shutdown. "I'm exhausted."
"That's understandable." He spun her toward him.
She gasped, never hearing him cross the room. He leaned in, his hands gripping the chair's wood handles, trapping her. "Considering the workout you got tonight."
Her eyes slammed into his. She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. The man surrounded her. The clean, fresh scent of snow and the outdoors clung to his clothes. It mixed with the warm, earthy scent of his skin to swirl around her, but she forced herself not to look away.
It was like being back in high school all over again!
He tugged on the chair, inching it closer. "Most husbands wouldn't enjoy seeing their wives parade on a bar in front of a bunch of drunk, horny cowboys."
"I don't have a husband."
His head dipped lower and thick lashes fanned out over sharp cheekbones as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He spoke, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes rose again to lock with hers. "We're still married. And, Mrs. Steele, we need to talk."
Chapter Four
M rs. Steele. Mrs. Steele. Mrs. Steele.
The words churned inside Racy's head much like the heavy snow swirling in the bright glow of the Jeep's headlights. She stared out into the darkness, not remembering exactly how she'd made it into Gage's vehicle. Her purse and backpack were at her feet, and on her lap were the matching letters from the State Bar of Nevada, one addressed to her and one to Gage.
That much she did remember. Clawing through the stack of mail on her desk to find her own letter explaining the legal mess they were in. A part of her had wanted to believe the letter Gage had given her was an elaborate joke. It wasn't.
"You're too damn quiet over there."
His harsh words caused her stomach to clench. She closed her eyes and kept her face toward the window. "I'm fine."
"All things
She concentrated on her work, pausing a few minutes later to push at the sleeve on her oversize sweatshirt. One with the bar's logo, not Gage's sweat jacket. That was buried in her backpack. And as soon as she got home it was going to the bottom of her closet.
A quick glance at her watch told her it was almost 2:00 a.m. Wow, she hadn't known it was that late. Crashing on the battered leather couch against the far wall wasn't an option. No, she had to go home because—
A muffled, steady clapping caused Racy to jump.
She swung around. Gage. He leaned against the door frame, his Stetson and jacket stained from wet snow. Cheeks ruddy from the cold, his lips pressed in a hard line as he continued a measured applause.
"Cut it out. You scared the crap out of me." Was she as breathless as she sounded? "How did you get—ah, Max. Look, I know Gina working here has you twisted six ways from Sunday, but I've already told you she's staying."
He'd stopped clapping and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "She told me the same thing on the ride home. I was heading to my place when I saw your car in the parking lot. Come on, I'll give you a lift."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't have snow tires. I checked. Got chains in the trunk?"
She didn't speak, knowing her silence gave him his answer.
"That's what I figured." He entered her office. "Besides, you've been drinking."
Racy glanced at the glass. "That's only—"
"I don't care what it is. Mixed with the shot you had earlier, it's two drinks too many."
She frowned in confusion until she realized he was talking about the shot glass of apple juice.
Hmm, so he had seen everything . She should be happy, but deep inside she wondered if it mattered. He probably wouldn't give two whiffs if she'd stripped down to nothing and got it on with the first cowboy to cross her path.
Of course, the last cowboy she'd gotten skin-to-skin with was standing right in front of her.
"Oh, please, like you're worried about me." She turned back to the monitor, but fatigue overcame her. It was time to go home. In her own car. Three clicks and the computer started its shutdown. "I'm exhausted."
"That's understandable." He spun her toward him.
She gasped, never hearing him cross the room. He leaned in, his hands gripping the chair's wood handles, trapping her. "Considering the workout you got tonight."
Her eyes slammed into his. She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. The man surrounded her. The clean, fresh scent of snow and the outdoors clung to his clothes. It mixed with the warm, earthy scent of his skin to swirl around her, but she forced herself not to look away.
It was like being back in high school all over again!
He tugged on the chair, inching it closer. "Most husbands wouldn't enjoy seeing their wives parade on a bar in front of a bunch of drunk, horny cowboys."
"I don't have a husband."
His head dipped lower and thick lashes fanned out over sharp cheekbones as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He spoke, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes rose again to lock with hers. "We're still married. And, Mrs. Steele, we need to talk."
Chapter Four
M rs. Steele. Mrs. Steele. Mrs. Steele.
The words churned inside Racy's head much like the heavy snow swirling in the bright glow of the Jeep's headlights. She stared out into the darkness, not remembering exactly how she'd made it into Gage's vehicle. Her purse and backpack were at her feet, and on her lap were the matching letters from the State Bar of Nevada, one addressed to her and one to Gage.
That much she did remember. Clawing through the stack of mail on her desk to find her own letter explaining the legal mess they were in. A part of her had wanted to believe the letter Gage had given her was an elaborate joke. It wasn't.
"You're too damn quiet over there."
His harsh words caused her stomach to clench. She closed her eyes and kept her face toward the window. "I'm fine."
"All things
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