person in the hotel lobby—including Peter Monroe and his wife Cassandra—were staring at them. Clint pushed the elevator button. She could hear the grin in his voice as he announced to the hotel lobby, “I’ve got me a first-class filly and we’re going to have a second honeymoon. Not that the first one ever really ended.”
As Laura raised her head she saw Cassandra say something to Peter Monroe and the target of their assignment smiled as he looked at her. Then he winked at her.
The elevator doors opened and Clint strode inside, turned around and stopped the bellboy who was about to follow them with their luggage. “Take the next car. The missus and I want to be alone for a minute.”
The bellboy obeyed, his mouth hanging open, and the doors closed behind them leaving her and Clint alone in the elevator.
“Put me down.”
“If I put you down, are you going to kill me?”
“Yes.”
He shifted her weight slightly on his shoulder. “Then I can’t put you down until you promise not to hurt me.”
“You hoisted me over your shoulder like a bag of wet laundry.”
“More like flour really. You’re not nearly heavy enough or lumpy enough for wet laundry.”
“Put me down!” she demanded.
“Not until I have your word.”
“You can’t keep me on your shoulder forever.”
Clint pushed the Stop button.
“Don’t do that. They’re going to think we’re…”
“We’re what?” he drawled the question in his most obnoxious Texan twang as one hand traced a circle on her inner knee.
Laura clenched her teeth together to stop herself from moaning. She tried to kick her leg but his arm was like a band of steel across her upper thighs. “You know very well what they’ll think.”
To her surprise she found herself back on her feet. She straightened out her skirt as the blood drained from her head.
“Well, at least we got Peter Monroe’s attention,” Clint said.
She knocked him back with both hands hard against his chest. Or rather she meant to knock him back but he didn’t move. Instead he caught her hands in his and held her captive. How did this man do this to her? She was far too aware of her racing pulse. Hopefully he would account it to anger and not lust.
“I apologize,” he said, surprising her again. He let go of her hands and leaned against the wall. “If Peter Monroe really has a subconscious desire to be a cowboy, then he got a taste of what people believe Texans are.”
She sighed. “Overgrown Neanderthals who think they’re charming?”
“Yes.”
She understood all about being mistaken for your image and her anger deflated. “You do get ribbed about being a cowboy cop. Okay, maybe you did have a good idea—but no more good ideas like that without consulting me first. I don’t appreciate having my butt stuck up in the air for everyone to ogle.”
“It’s such a cute butt how could they help but admire it?”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk me, cowboy. I’m not falling for any of your good old boy routine.” She pushed the Start button. “And don’t even think about manhandling me again.”
“What about when we get to the honeymoon suite? It’s customary for the groom to carry the bride over the threshold.”
Clint stood watching her, humor lighting his chiseled face, making him so handsome she had to catch her breath. She turned away from him and pressed their floor button again, wishing she could transport herself safely behind doors and away from Clint. She put on her best frosty expression as she raked him from head to toe. “It’s also customary for the groom to live through the night. You try any funny business and you won’t.”
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