Page 24 of Wild and Wanted

‘Thank you,’ she murmured before physically moving away from the caress. ‘I appreciate that.’

He nodded, his palm dropping away. ‘For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed tonight.’

Stevie’s belly fluttered. For what it was worth? Sitting here in the hushed confines of the cab with him, this sophisticated man of the world who could have been with any woman he wanted tonight, doing dozens of things any red-blooded male would probably prefer? The fact he’d enjoyed the evening?

That was worth a lot.

Unable to put any of that into words lest she sound unhinged and desperate as well as an emotional basket case, Stevie dragged her eyes off Clay, his bulk even more impressive cloaked in the shadows of the night. She undid her seat belt. ‘I better get inside.’

He didn’t protest or try to stop her which, perversely, made her wish he had. He just said, ‘I’ll wait for you to get inside before I go.’

That shouldn’t be a turn-on. He was just being a gentleman who no doubt did the same for any woman, but she was so hopelessly infatuated that any courtesy felt like something for her and her alone.

Opening the door, she bade him goodnight.

His goodnight floated out to her as Stevie exited the pickup and shut the door. She didn’t look back as she walked on shaky legs to the front door, but she was conscious of his eyes following her, of the heated caress of his gaze on her thighs. When she reached the door she didn’t turn and wave, just slipped in, shutting it behind her, leaning against it, her breath held as she waited to hear the engine start.

It felt like an age before it rumbled to life and she stood and listened to it, her heart beating a little too fast as the noise got fainter and fainter.

‘Stevie?’

An orange glow emanated from her mom’s room and, on legs still not quite stable, Stevie crossed to it, hovering in the open doorway. The bed was strewn with paperwork, her mother looking over the top of her reading glasses with a smile.

‘Thought you’d be asleep.’

Gesturing to the paperwork, her mom said, ‘Tour stuff.’ Oh yes. The tour. How could Stevie forget the tour? ‘Did you have a good night?’

‘Yup.’

‘Who dropped you off?’

‘Mags,’ she lied as she crossed her fingers behind her back.

Guilt at the falsehood was instantaneous. Stevie never lied to her mother. Yolly had done so regularly and with no remorse, but not Stevie, mostly because she’d never done anything risqué enough to warrant it. Except tonight, she’d sat in a dark car with a guy she’d wanted to do more than just talk with, and instinctively she’d kept that to herself.

Because she didn’t want her mother to worry. More than that, she wanted to hug it to herself as a delicious secret.

Her mom nodded. ‘Don’t forget your lesson is at eight tomorrow.’

It wasn’t but Stevie didn’t mention that either. She just nodded. ‘Night, Mom.’

‘Night, sweetie.’

Stevie headed to her room, too buzzed to even think about sleep. In the corner sat her Martin D-35 acoustic guitar. She had four other guitars at home but this one was the one she preferred when it came to creating, and her oldest. She’d saved her pocket money up to buy it when she’d been thirteen because it was Johnny Cash’s guitar of choice.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she started strumming, the first notes of a new song teasing around the edges of her brain, flirting with her subconscious, waiting for her to pin it down.

Waiting for her to strum it to life.

9

CLAY

Three days later, Clay strode into the stables. With the sun now high in the sky it was hot as Hades outside – they were having their hottest June on record – and the shade provided instant relief. He was too preoccupied however with thoughts of her.

For fuck’s sake, she’d been in his life for one week. Not even in it – adjacent to it. One week exactly since he’d laid eyes on Stevie Everhart. Just one week and she’d taken up permanent residency in his head like some kind of earworm.

And then there was Friday night – the bar and the pool and their ride home, the side of her body pressed into the side of his. Riding alone with her in his pickup after Mags had vacated. Aware of every bump in the track between the ranch house and her cabin. Finding out she’d googled him. Feeling her anguish over her lack of privacy even in her grief.