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He saved me from wolves. Force marched me through the cold. I’ve gone over and over those few hours—how he refused to slow the pace and barely helped me through the worst spots. He did it on purpose to ensure I kept my body temperature up by keeping me moving.
The moment I was out of danger, he’s been nothing but gentle. Teasing me more often than not, but he’s never been gruff, and certainly not disinterested.
Scott and his physical abuse traumatized me, but I refuse to let him influence how I respond to every other man in my life.
“I trust you.”
“Good.” He twirls his finger in the air.
I dutifully spin and face away from him.
His strong fingers place the fabric over my eyes. The touch ignites a banked heat slumbering in my core, making me gasp.
“Here, hold this while I tie you up.”
I hold the silk in place and laugh. “You said no tying me up.”
“Well, not yet, but I have to warn you, I’m a rancher.”
“And?”
“I’m good with rope.”
“A llama rancher. I know.”
“Bert raises llamas. I run cattle, which means I’m really good with rope.”
“Oh!” My insides squirm with the promise laced in his words.
Vanilla is good, but maybe a few chocolate sprinkles might be nice from time to time. While I focus on soothing my racing heart, his deft fingers tie the blindfold in place. He grips my shoulders and spins me around.
“Can you see anything?”
“Nope.”
“You peeking?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “I’m not peeking. I can’t see anything.”
“Good.”
The moment the word’s out of his mouth, the searing heat of his kiss returns, all the hotter for how unexpected it is. I gasp. Then he lifts me up and settles me on the seat of the truck.
“Can you buckle in on your own, or do you need help?” He hands me the shoulder strap, and I feel at my left hip for the seatbelt latch.
“I’ve got it.”
“Good, buckle up, city girl. I’ve got a treat for you.”
The door shuts with a solid thunk, and I hear nothing but his boots on the ground as he rounds the truck. The driver’s door opens, and the truck shifts under his weight.
“You a country, pop, or hard rock kind of gal?”
I take in a deep breath. “Your choice. I like them all.”
The engine cranks over and classical music spills from the radio.
“Is that what you like?” I ask.
