Winters Heat (Titan) by Cristin Harber

since fired and ceased. They should have, but she still wanted to taste him again.
    Mia turned and leaned toward him, inches away from the side of his face. The truck smelled like man and guns. His raspy cheeks beckoned, begging her to nuzzle against them. The pinpricks of stubble were so close, but she stayed away.
    “Nothing to say, Winters?”
    Heat emanated between the scant space separating their bodies. Their gazes clashed. Her throat constricted, and the heavy beat of her heart pounded. Seconds passed, loaded with anticipation.
    “We need gas.” He tore his gaze from hers and eyed a tall gas station sign illuminating the night ahead.
    What had she been doing? She needed to say something. “Where are we headed?”
    “Virginia.”
    “Virginia? We’re driving home? That’s like another twelve hours,” she said an octave higher than normal, giving an incredulous glare. She scooted to her side of the vehicle in two side pushes.
    “Don’t like it? Find another ride.” He stopped the truck at the pump and jumped out without looking back. The harsh slam of the door echoed in her ears.
    What just happened?
    That was cold. He set the gas pump up and ambled into the store. No way was he off the hook after that. He would have to explain why they were booking it cross-country instead of hopping a flight home. Mia jumped out and followed behind him.
    He had his phone to his ear, Dots boxes in hand, and now, he ignored her. Mia went to the drinks cooler and watched him. He had to be talking about her. She puttered around the beverage coolers, trying to listen, picking up a handful of words. Won’t be home. Work. I love you.
    Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh my God. He’s married? He has a girlfriend?
    She grabbed a soda and met him in the snack aisle. He stood awkward, pressing his phone against his ear. Mia grabbed a bag of pretzels in a big show and slammed both drink and snack into his stomach. The same rock hard stomach she noticed when he pressed against her.
    “I need these.” And in a flash of fury, she stormed back out to the truck.
    The heck with Colby Winters.
    The humid evening air clung to her. The smell of the gasoline radiated from the dirty concrete. The parking lot was empty, the pumps vacant other than Winters’s truck. The distant chug, chug, chug of his pickup still filling up was the only sound she heard. No birds singing nighttime songs. No crickets calling out.
    Once a safe distance from him, she turned. His steely eyes followed her. He put the phone into his pocket in a slow, deliberate move, and stood there.
    He seemed skyscraper tall, just as broad in the chest, and his pants were well-worn in all the right places. A longing buzz escaped from her lips without permission. Any sign of his earlier arousal was long gone, but the pants still cupped him in a way that she could imagine. His T-shirt clung tight against his narrow waist, somehow hiding the gun she knew was tucked into the back of his jeans. How did someone so menacing come off as sexy? She shook her head. No, there would be none of that.
    She didn’t become a psychologist only to analyze other people’s problems. She could do a serious analysis of herself and knew exactly why he was attractive. It was a simple reaction to her tumultuous day. Any other day, he would just be a jagged-around-the-edges man that she should bypass. One she might even cross the street to avoid.
    She needed sleep, a couple of meals packed with carbs and calorie dense desserts, and a lazy soak in her oversized bathtub, glass of white wine in hand. She didn’t need him, no matter what her body swore. After serious pampering, the chemical reaction that was her attraction to him would be an afterthought.
    She looked at him again. His dark expression was analytical. No, he didn’t study her, but rather, the area around her, surveying her surroundings. A feeble gas station sign illuminated the dark night. No moon or stars. A flashing neon sign in the store window