eyes were a deep, dark brown—maybe black. She couldn’t tell in this light. But they were intense—and focused on her.
Kiss me. Don’t. The two thoughts hit at exactly the same moment, swamping her in confusion. She couldn’t lean in and she couldn’t lean away. She couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes and wonder what he saw when he looked at her.
When he spoke, his words were a quiet whisper that she somehow felt deep down in the very center of her body. “I’m not most people, Lacy.”
Then he was gone, leaning back and tapping his hand against the hood of the truck. “Get some dinner and some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He started to walk away, and Lacy blurted out, “Ian?”
He paused and turned back. “Yeah?”
“It was a good rodeo tonight.” No, no—that’s not what she’d wanted to say. Of course, she didn’t know what she wanted to say. Something that wasn’t bitchy or dazed, something that said that they were friends.
“I mean, you were good tonight. In the rodeo.” Ugh, that was not any better. “I mean...”
He saved her from death by embarrassment. “Thanks.” Then he was gone, walking off into the night.
Lacy fired up the truck. Dinner. She’d go get some dinner.
For the first time in a long time, she was hungry.
THE RODEO DIDN’T start until seven that night. Ian rolled into the arena grounds at four thirty.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Lacy had actually slept in that truck. And then, when he’d asked about dinner, she’d gotten a fuzzy look on her face and had admitted that she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten lunch. He’d put the odds on her actually eating something after he left her last night at maybe fifty-fifty.
He had almost two hours before he needed to start his prerodeo warm-up. If she wouldn’t let him take her to dinner, then he’d go get some food and bring it back to her. She was too thin, the circles under her eyes too dark.
She was entirely too stubborn. He got the feeling that if he tried to tell her to breathe, she might hold her breath to show him that he wasn’t the boss of her.
The way she’d held her breath last night, when he’d leaned into the cab of her truck. He hadn’t intended it to be an erotic thing. He hadn’t even touched her.
But she’d sucked in that little gasp and hadn’t let it back out. Instead, her eyes had gone wide and her pupils had dilated as a sweet blush heated her cheeks—and his blood. The spark that he felt when he was around her had threatened to catch and ignite a hell of a fire.
He’d almost kissed her. It would have been easy. He’d only had to lean forward another few inches and take her mouth.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t touched her. Instead—and he still didn’t quite believe this—he’d gone back to the cheap hotel room he shared with Black Jack and ordered a pizza and watched some cheesy movie from the ’80s.
It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him. Lacy wasn’t his type. She was as tough as nails and twice as sharp. But underneath that—there was a vulnerability that had him at the arena hours early to make sure she ate dinner.
He parked and headed toward her truck. Something told him that, even if she had gone back to her hotel, she’d be here early.
He was not disappointed. She was sitting exactly where he’d left her. The only difference was she had on a different shirt, a pale green shot through with pink.
She still had her hat on. He was more disappointed than he cared to admit.
“Hey,” she said when she saw him.
“Hiya,” he replied. Her brows furrowed. Now what had he done wrong? “What?”
She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. There was something about her face today that was softer. He took back everything he’d ever thought about her being not traditionally beautiful. She was gorgeous.
“Your accent.”
“What about it?”
“Now it’s gone. It was stronger.” She shrugged.
He allowed himself a small smile. “Yeah, it comes and it goes, depending on who I’m talking to.” It was always strongest when he went home and everyone spoke the same way. But sometimes, when he was hanging out with someone he was sure wouldn’t hold his accent against him, it slipped out.
“It was pretty,” she said without looking at him. Then her face scrunched up as it had last night when she’d sleepily told him she liked the wet T-shirt. It was a look that said pretty loud and clear I can’t believe I said that.
“You eaten today? Something more than doughnuts?”
“I remembered to have lunch.”
There was something about the way she said it that struck him as weird. “You remembered? Is that something you usually forget?”
“I eat when I’m hungry.” But she didn’t meet his eyes when she said it.
He tapped the hood again. “Come on. Let’s go grab something before the show.”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay here, thanks. I want to keep an eye on my bulls.”
“Did you sleep in the truck last night?”
The color on her cheeks deepened. “No.”
That admission made him want to smile. She’d done as he’d asked. He got the feeling that didn’t happen too often. “And yet, the bulls were fine?”
That got him a sharp look. Her whole face was transformed from one of surprisingly feminine beauty to a tough, tomboy scowl. “Yes.”
“Then they’ll be fine for another hour.” Again, he wondered who Dale was to her. He couldn’t tell how old she was—he’d guess Lacy was in her twenties, although whether that was twenty-two or twenty-nine was up for debate.
She could have been married. Or not, he thought, checking out her ring finger. No tan lines. But she was certainly old enough that she could have been in a long-term relationship. Of course, it was also possible that Dale had been someone else entirely—not a lover, but a friend, a brother...family.
She opened her mouth, to argue no doubt. Ian shot her a hard look. “I’m betting you’re going to load up those bulls and head straight for home, wherever home is. I’m betting you won’t stop until you get there. I’m betting that you’ll ‘forget’ to eat then. So dinner now.”
Her eyes narrowed, but then, unexpectedly, she gave in. “Fine,” she said, cranking on the engine. “But I’m driving.”
He
