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Kitabı oku: «The Last Landry», sayfa 2

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Chapter Two

Taylor liked the structure of her life. A life, she acknowledged, as she carried the heavy tray stacked with pies toward the bunkhouse, that didn’t fit any of the criteria she’d so carefully defined. “How did I manage to mess up so royally?” she whispered as she trudged across the moist ground, doing her best to balance the tray and avoid a huge mud puddle courtesy of the early snowmelt.

Didn’t matter. It would be history soon. She’d get back on track. She’d forget that she actually liked caring for a family—lessons learned and reinforced over and over during her tenure on the ranch. She couldn’t erase the last five years. Probably wouldn’t even if she could. It would mean forgetting how much she loved preparing meals, planning parties and celebrating milestones, and she didn’t want to do that. But she couldn’t make that her whole life, right? No. Career had to be the focus. That was the smart choice. Relationships couldn’t be controlled, and had the ability to evaporate in a second. She didn’t want to be one of those sad women sitting alone in some dingy apartment, pining for a man. Men made you desperate and she’d had enough of desperate to last a lifetime.

So, while she liked her current life, Taylor knew it had to end. Time to move on. Captain her own ship. Float her own boat. “When did I become the queen of the nautical metaphor?” she grumbled, sidestepping another hazardous mud puddle.

Here she was, on the brink of checking off one of the major things on her life-goals list, and she wasn’t happy. That was annoying as sin. She should be ecstatic, exuberantly anticipating her future.

A future that didn’t include the large, loving Landry family. Taylor felt a chill carried on the early evening air. Within a week of meeting the Landrys, all of her preconceived notions had started to crumble. Everything, absolutely everything, she’d been living, breathing, believing, planning and plotting for much of her life had collapsed, crumpled, shattered. It wasn’t supposed to be like th—

She screamed, nearly pitching the tray, startled by seeing two men lurking in the shadows. Her yelp of alarm brought four or five more men out of the bunkhouse, along with the attention of the shrouded figures. Her heart was racing even after she recognized one of the men.

Nervous laughter spilled from her as Will Hampton stepped into the beam of light caused by the flood lamp mounted above the front door. “You nearly scared me to death!” she chided.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his tattered hat.

Will was a walking cliché, the very image of a taciturn cowboy. From the hat to his craggy, leathery face, jeans, bowed legs and scuffed boots—you name it, he had it. Along with a personality that bordered on nonexistent. He barely ever spoke, and when he did, it was in one-or two-word sentences that almost always ended in a polite “ma’am.”

Smiling, Taylor acknowledged the other man. He wasn’t familiar, but they were at the launch of the spring calving season, so there were any number of men drifting in and out of steady employment. “I brought you dessert.” She handed the tray to Will, glad to rid herself of its weight, and smiled at the other man. “Hi, I’m Taylor.”

“LukeAdams,” he stated, offering her a perfect smile.

Too perfect, she thought. Ranch hands didn’t normally spend that kind of money on cosmetic dentistry. Nor, she noted, did they have tattoos across their knuckles. Nor, ink marks aside, were they usually so attractive. Luke didn’t have the sun-aged skin of a tenured hand. He was just shy of six feet, with neatly trimmed hair—what she could see of it beneath his hat—and light eyes. Maybe he was just what she needed to get her mind off Shane. Not the brightest approach to filling her final weeks on the ranch, but it wasn’t as if she had any plans for a future here.

“Welcome to the Lucky 7.”

“Thank you,” he said politely.

“When did you sign on?”

“A couple of days back,” Luke answered.

He had a nice voice—not as deep as Shane’s—and he was definitely checking her out. “Where’d you work before?” Taylor’s curiosity was, pathetically, only marginally piqued.

“Here and there,” he said with a shrug of acceptably muscled shoulders. Shane’s were broad and sculpted. She knew this because she’d seen him shirtless. A half-dressed Shane was a thing of beauty.

“…Mrs. Landry?”

She shook off her Shane-brain and asked Luke to repeat the question.

“Are you Mrs. Landry?”

“I’m not,” she answered quickly, hating that she hated saying it. “But there are six of them around. Can’t help but run into one eventually.”

“Six wives? Is this one of those pluralist families I’ve read about?”

“We gotta go, Luke,” Will interrupted, clearly irritated by the mildly flirtatious tone of the conversation. “Ma’am.”

Then again, everything about Taylor seemed to irritate Will. They hadn’t exactly bonded during her time at the ranch. At first she’d tried killing him with kindness, but that didn’t get her too far. Now she just settled for civil exchanges whenever the two of them shared the same space.

Taylor couldn’t fathom why it was that Shane adored Will. As she walked back to the house, she recalled the countless times he had praised the foreman, who’d been working at the ranch in some capacity or another for more than forty years. She suspected Shane thought of the older man as a substitute father. Made perfect sense, considering that Will had stepped in to handle things during Shane’s father’s absence. Good thing, too, since none of the other brothers had any interest in the actual day-to-day running of the ranch.

She thought about the gaggle of Landry men. Sam preferred the world of high finance. Seth and Cody were in law enforcement, Seth as the sheriff of Jasper and Cody as a federal marshal. Chance was a doctor, a general practitioner in town. Clayton had a law office in Missoula, crusading to save others from the horrible ordeal that had robbed him of four years of his life. And Chandler, well, he was a big, important author now. Taylor smiled, remembering how stunned she’d been to learn of his well-hidden, secret persona.

Shane was the homebody. He adored everything about the ranch, including Will, who he obviously looked to as a friend and mentor. That alone was almost enough of a reason for Taylor to keep trying with the crusty old guy. She had a pretty good idea of what it must have been like for Shane to return to the Lucky 7 after so many years, only to find his parents gone.

Now he knew they were dead. She felt great empathy for the Landry clan. Especially Shane, since she knew precisely how he was feeling even if they never talked about that sort of thing. Actually, they never talked, period.

The concept of parental abandonment hit close to home, Taylor acknowledged as she stepped off the pathway in order to avoid another mud puddle. She knew what it felt like from firsthand experience.

That was only a minor reason why Shane was off-limits. In addition to a strong physical pull, she suspected, they had too much else in common. They had—

Taylor didn’t get to finish her thought. Not when she found herself suddenly flying facefirst into a deep puddle of mud. Turning her head to the side just in time, she spat out grit, then let loose a colorful curse.

She opened one eye to see a pair of size thirteen boots inches away from her nose. “Is that any way for a lady to talk?” Shane chided.

“Are you going to help me?” she demanded, glaring up at him as she struggled to her hands and knees in the cold slime.

His face contorted in what she was sure was a very gallant attempt to keep from laughing. “Only if you ask nicely.”

She glared daggers up at him, feeling the globs of mud slide down the front of her shirt and into her bra. “I would rather gnaw off my own muddy tongue.”

“Suit yourself,” he sighed, shifting his weight and crossing his arms over his chest.

Taylor did a humiliating Three Stooges thing where she’d almost make it, then lose her footing and fall again. But she refused to ask for his assistance. Arrogant and…stupid. Neither of those things normally described her, yet Shane seemed to bring them all out in spades.

With the grace and balance of a two-legged giraffe, she finally pulled herself out of the puddle and back onto dry land. She was soaked, and filthy, smelled like earth and was so cold her teeth started to chatter.

Shane mumbled something unflattering about her being hardheaded as he removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

“It’ll get ruined,” she complained.

“So will you, if you don’t get out of those wet things before you catch cold.”

She wrapped herself in the coat, feeling the warmth of his body transfer to hers. “You don’t catch a cold from the weather. A cold is a virus and—”

“Can’t you ever just say thank-you?” he grumbled as he took her by the elbow and led her toward the back door.

She practically had to jog to keep pace with him. Shane didn’t seem to realize that their height difference meant she had to take two steps to his one. “Sure. Thank you for not helping me out of the puddle.”

He chuckled softly. As always, the sound comforted her in ways it shouldn’t and at a time it shouldn’t.

“You’re a real smart-ass, Taylor.”

“One of us has to be smart,” she retorted, glancing up to bat her eyelashes at him. “Get the door so that I don’t have to wash the mud off it in the morning.”

“A competent housekeeper wouldn’t wait until morning.” He reached around her and grabbed the knob, then yanked open the door.

“A competent housekeeper wouldn’t work for the pittance you pay me.” Which was totally unfair, she acknowledged rather guiltily. Sometimes she had to find ammunition when no ammunition was available.

“Free room,” he reminded her, following her inside. “And board, tuition payments and a car. I don’t see where you’re so bad off.”

Removing the coat, she held it out to him as if she was handing him a giant cootie. “I am perfect. You are bad off.”

“Really?” Using his coat like protective gloves, he grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around and marched her into the hallway.

Taylor almost shrieked when she caught sight of her reflection in the beveled mirror above the highboy. Her hair was nothing but limp, brown clumps. The only part of her face not covered in mud were her eyes, making her look like some nocturnal creature.

“Not so perfect now, eh?”

“You’re an evil man,” she cried, twisting free and racing off to her room. She’d worry about the mud tracks on the polished wood floors after she showered and threw her clothes in the trash. Only now there was very little hope of making her class on time. That great, structured life of hers had gone to hell in a handcart rather quickly.

Ten minutes later, a freshly showered Taylor was racing around, putting on her shoes while making an attempt at maneuvering the hair dryer one-handed. It wasn’t the best system, so she gave up, grabbing a large clip off the vanity and twisting her clean but soaking hair into a messy bundle at the back of her head.

At least she wouldn’t be stuck in a class for three hours wearing a damp sweater, smelling like wet wool. Glancing over at the clock, she grabbed her keys and dashed toward the front door. If she ignored the posted speed limit and parked illegally, she’d only be ten or fifteen minutes late.

“I’m leaving!” she called out, skating on her towel to clean the mud off the floor as she went.

“For good, I hope?” Shane asked as he came out of the living room and leaned against the jamb.

She smiled. “Soon enough, but for now, you’d be lost without me, Shane.”

His eyes met hers. “Very true.”

Man, she hated it when he did that! Banter worked. Moments of genuine kindness, like sacrificing his coat and cleaning the kitchen after her pie baking marathon, did not. The man didn’t play fair.

It was easier to spar with Shane than to acknowledge his good side. Well, technically, it was a great side. But she was in too much of a hurry to deal with all that right now. “N-night,” she stammered awkwardly, moving in a wide arc to avoid even the possibility of making physical contact.

“Do you have pencils and paper?” he asked, moving into her path.

“It’s graduate school, Shane, not kindergarten.”

His dark head tilted to one side; his warm, minty breath fell across her upturned face. Taylor’s pulse quickened as his fingers reached out, hovering just shy of her throat. Anticipation rushed through her system. Contradictory thoughts—Please touch me! No, don’t touch me!—ping-ponged in her mind. She struggled to keep from betraying herself completely.

Not an easy task when she was standing in the shadow of more than six feet of absolute male perfection. His soft, cotton shirt hugged every inch of corded muscle, outlining his broad shoulders and solid torso. She tried not to notice that unlike her, his chest rose and fell rhythmically, evenly. She had to stand her ground. She knew Shane well. Suspected he would pounce at even the smallest slip in her facade.

That was her fault. She was the one who’d put that tightrope between them. The cute-banter idea had seemed safe when she’d first arrived at the ranch and felt the tingle when he’d shaken her hand. Now it was a flimsy cover barely protecting her from the intensity of his gaze. The longing churning in her belly. The need building day by day, hour by hour, second by second.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her shiver. “You could stay here. I’ll draw some inkblots and you can analyze me.”

She slapped his hand away. “Pass, thanks. I don’t have time to play games with boys in men’s clothing.” She checked her watch, using that as an excuse to divert her eyes from the tractor beam of his gaze.

“Chicken?” His tone was low and far too sexy for her comfort level.

“No, thanks, I’ve eaten.” She inched past him. “Good night, Shane.”

“Have a good time.” His voice was now laced with something that managed to be seductive and taunting all at the same, confusing time. She was glad to be making an escape and even happier to have an excuse to do it quickly.

The man was annoying. He was impossible. “He does have a great butt,” she murmured as she opened her car door. That small confession brought a smile to her lips.

A smile that vanished the instant she saw the threatening note attached to her seat by the glistening blade of a knife.

Chapter Three

Knife in one hand, Taylor read the note. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The block printing made it impossible for her to identify the writer, but the contents and the knife made the message frighteningly clear: “SHANE DID IT. THE PROOF IS IN THE ATTIC.”

OhGodohGodohGod! This wasn’t possible. Shane was a lot of things, but not a killer. Sure, they had their tense moments, but she knew with absolute certainty that he was incapable of hurting anyone. Especially not the mother he worshiped and the father he revered.

Why accuse him?

Oh, God. Who could have delivered this?

Maybe it was a joke. A sick, perverted and cruel one, but some fool’s idea of humor. She couldn’t show Shane. Not now.

Observing him these last few weeks, she knew where he was on the bereavement scale. The initial denial stage had passed the second he’d identified his mother’s wedding ring. The anger stage had passed as well, probably because he’d transferred those emotions to the fantasies of what he’d do when the killer was caught. The funeral ritual had been an outlet for the bargaining and depression stages.

Shane had now reached the final phase—acceptance. Yes, she knew it had been a sudden, unwelcome and painful journey, but she wasn’t about to let some weasel with a warped sense of humor set him back to square one. Crumpling the note, she decided when and if she ever found the prankster, she’d kick him, then charge him for repairing the puncture left by the knife. “Jackass,” she muttered.

Taylor heard the sound of an approaching car and hurriedly put the knife and crumpled note inside her purse. Tossing her bag on the passenger seat, she slipped behind the wheel.

Seth’s marked SUV pulled alongside her sedan just as Taylor turned the key, starting the engine. With a wave of her hand, she rushed off before he noticed anything was amiss. Amiss? She almost choked. That wasn’t the word for it. Amiss didn’t come close to describing the protective surge of anger churning her insides.

SHANE WAS IN THE PROCESS of grabbing another beer when he heard the front door open and close. For a split second, he let himself hope that it might be Taylor coming back inside. Maybe she’d decided to abandon her class in favor of spending the evening with him. Yeah, sure. That was about as likely as fish learning to dance. Acknowledging that reality made him scowl.

Seth strolled into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s with Taylor?”

Shane shrugged. “Don’t know. I never know, which probably explains why we’ve lived under the same roof for five years and I still don’t know her middle name.”

“Sophia,” Seth replied with a brotherly sneer as he weaved toward the kitchen. “Put us all out of our misery and make your move. Get proactive, will you?”

“Proactive? Is that from your word-of-the-day calendar? You weren’t here a few minutes ago. If you were, you’d rethink your belief that she’s hot for me. She thinks I’m a moron.”

“You can be a moron, but that’s beside the point,” Seth teased. “Trust me on this, Shane. Time’s a-wastin’.”

“Why do you think she’s interested in me?”

“My exceptional talents for deduction.”

“Really?” Shane asked, smacking Seth’s Stetson off his head. “Maybe you should put those skills of yours to good use by trying to figure out why the woman can barely keep a civil tone in my presence. She hates me.”

“You’re so wrong,” Seth stated, tossing his hat onto the table. “Men are such jerks.”

“First you quote movies, now this?” Shane demanded. “You are such a girl.”

“No, I’m insightful,” his brother said easily. “One of the many advantages of age and experience, bro.”

“Do you have a valid reason for being here?” Shane asked as he watched his brother help himself to a bottle of water, tucking it into the utility belt clipped at his waist. “By valid I mean something more than a roadie of water and an opportunity to rag on me? Has there been a development in the investigation?”

Seth flopped into his chair. “Nothing so far. But after our chat this morning, I thought I’d come by to see if you asked her out. Everyone is very interested in your progress with Taylor. We voted and decided it was more fun to focus on that than champing at the bit because we can’t get involved in solving Mom and Dad’s murder.”

Shane and his brother shared a moment of reflective silence.

“Everyone?” Shane asked. “What did you do, take a poll?”

“Actually, I did.” Seth smiled. “With Sam, Callie and the kids out of the house, we all think it’s time you stopped dragging your heels. I swear, Shane, it took less time for Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel, for chrissake.”

“He had divine inspiration. I have Taylor’s verbal missile defense system. By the way, I know she’d be thrilled to hear my brothers are so concerned about our love life—the one we don’t have—that they felt it necessary to gossip and send an emissary.”

“Whatever,” Seth remarked dismissively before taking a long swallow of beer. “So, what’s the holdup? How much longer do we all have to stay away?”

“You call this staying away?” Shane flicked a bottle cap at Seth, which he deflected easily. “Besides, what do you care?”

“We’re crazy about Taylor, and speaking only for myself, it would be really, really nice if the two of you could hook up before midnight Sunday.”

Shane rolled his eyes. His brothers didn’t think anything was off-limits when it came to the friendly placing of wagers. “How much?”

“I bet fifty bucks that you’d admit your undying love before the vernal equinox. Make it happen and I’ll split the booty with you.”

“Maybe,” Shane hedged. “What’s the pot up to?”

“Twelve hundred. But only because we made Chandler pony up a thousand on the sixty day over-under.”

Shane gave an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe I should work a deal with Chandler then.”

“Before you get too chummy with him, you should know he bet the over, that it would take you more than sixty days to convince Taylor to accept your sorry ass.”

“He might be right,” Shane admitted, shoulders slumping under the weight of knowing that he wasn’t exactly on the road to success. Forget the road, he hadn’t even left the driveway. That could change, if he could come up with a feasible plan. Until he had one, a switch of topic seemed like a good idea. “How are Savannah and the kids?”

“Savannah is hot and my children are cuter, smarter and growing faster than everyone else’s.”

Shane smiled, knowing full well Seth’s remark was part jest and part fatherly pride. “Speaking with complete impartiality, I’m sure.”

His brother stood and launched the now-empty bottle in a perfect arc into the trash can. “A three-pointer.”

“Not from that distance, girlie-man,” Shane scoffed, tossing his beer bottle behind his back, around his waist, and watching it sail easily into the recycling bin with a satisfying clink. “Now, that is a three-pointer. I am the king.”

“Yeah,” Seth chuckled softly. “The lonely king.”

“That was harsh.” True, but harsh nonetheless.

“Buck up, bro. I’d be happy to give you some pointers if—”

Shane glared his older brother into silence. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Yep. Here.” Seth paused and replaced his Stetson, which bore the official seal of the city of Jasper. “I’m checking on a couple of parolees you hired for the calving season.”

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?”

Seth shook his head. “One did six months of an eight-month stint for bouncing checks, and the other guy’s out on early release on a simple use and possession.” Seth glanced at a small pad he pulled from his breast pocket. “Brian Meyer is the bad-check passer. Luke Adams is the bad driver with the bad habit. He wasn’t bright enough to keep under the speed limit while he was rolling a joint on his thigh.”

“Don’t have to be bright to be a criminal,” Shane said with an expelled breath. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Seth scanned the notepad again. “I ran checks on both guys when Will sent me their names. Nothing popped in the system. I would’ve called if anything came up. Meyer is a first-timer, so it’s worth giving him a chance. Adams has a few other busts, petty stuff. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Shane shrugged. “Will’s pretty good at screening them. He wouldn’t hire on anyone he didn’t think was a safe bet.”

“I agree,” Seth said. “Still, I want both of them to know I’m in the area. I’ll run out to the barn and just say hi before I head home.”

Shane walked with his brother to the front door. A rush of cold air filtered in and he was distracted for a minute, wondering if Taylor was dressed warmly enough. Of course not. She’d rushed out without a coat.

“Show them your gun and be sure to look mean,” Shane teased.

“Good tip, thanks.” Seth raised one hand and bounded down the steps two at a time. “You have fun tonight! All alone and wandering through the house like a—”

Shane slammed the door, not interested in taking any more of his brother’s ribbing. It wasn’t like he was ready to concede that his hands-off policy was getting harder and harder to maintain. In addition to his staggering fear of rejection, the truth was the growing intensity of his feelings for Taylor scared him. Keeping her at arm’s length was a lot easier than risking everything.

Except that his patience was running out. He felt as if his life had been one big hourglass for the last five years. Finding his parents, after wondering where they were and why they’d left, gave him an odd feeling, a kind of warning bell that there might only be a few grains of sand left.

“She’s going to graduate,” he told himself as he wandered back into the living room and flopped down on the leather sofa, grabbing the remote control. “Get a job and leave.” The thought depressed the hell out of him.

He flicked through the satellite menu without really seeing the images. They had two hundred fifty channels, but there was nothing on. Instead, his mind played visions of Taylor. In the kitchen. Working in the yard. She was as much a part of the Lucky 7 as he was now. Thinking about her impending and inevitable departure weighed heavily on him.

Four hours and fifty-six minutes later, Shane tried again to convince himself that he wasn’t actually waiting up for her. Right? his conscience ridiculed in a taunting little voice that was irritating as hell. Had to be that he was totally engrossed in the infomercial for the miracle herb that promised everything from increased energy to improved sexual function. Plus, if he acted now, he could get a six-month supply for the value price of only three hundred twenty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents. A veritable steal.

“Like I need anything for sexual function,” he muttered, standing up and taking his dishes into the kitchen. “My plumbing works just fine, thank you very much. That isn’t my problem. Sell me a magic pill to read her mind. Now that would be freaking worth three hundred and ninety-whatever dollars! Hell, I’d pay ten times that.”

He had just put a plate with crumbs of her delicious apple pie in the sink and was about to call it a night when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the front porch.

A sense of excitement rushed through him as he stilled, listening to the door opening and closing, followed by the familiar rhythm of her moving in his direction.

Taylor’s subtle perfume entered the room a split second before she appeared.

He knew something was wrong the second he saw her. “Fail a pop quiz or something?” he asked, disturbed by the tension in her hazel eyes.

Damn it. Taylor had hoped he’d be asleep by the time she got home from class. She wasn’t up to a verbal sparring match with Shane tonight, she really wasn’t. She’d been on a razor’s edge through the entire class, absorbing nothing. Anger over the knife and the note had claimed her focus for hours.

Somebody had strolled up to her car, in full view of the house, and had taken the time to open the door, stab the knife and note into her upholstery and walk away.

Who? And why make such a cruel and false accusation about a man who’d just buried his parents?

She tossed her purse on the foyer table by rote, then panicked a little—what if Shane suddenly ripped into it and demanded to know why she was carrying a knife? She shook with pent-up rage, and rubbed her arms as a diversion, trying to avoid him when he stepped farther into the hallway. “Not now, please? It’s late. I’m tired.” And spitting mad and…

She’d pivoted, fully intending to hide in the sanctuary of her room, when she felt his large fingers gently close on her shoulder. Fighting the urge to lean into the invitation of his touch, she stopped in her tracks. Finding the note, trying to figure out who might have sent it, sitting though a class without processing so much as a word of the lecture—all of it had zapped her energy. She was exhausted and wired all at once—that jittery, caffeine-rush kind of energy that had her stomach burning and her pulse pounding in her temples.

“What’s up, Taylor?” he asked softly, the teasing tone gone from his voice.

She opened her mouth, then went mute when he eased up behind her and began to softly massage away the tension that had been holding her hostage since leaving the ranch. His fingers moved gently, subtly. Because her still-damp hair was up in the clip, she was able to feel the warm wash of his breath against her neck.

“Your shoulders feel like rocks. Come on, tell Dr. Shane all about it.”

Tell the truth? Lie? She didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not when his touch scrambled her already taxed brain. The bombardment of sensations easily overshadowed all rational and intelligent thought. It was impossible for her to process anything beyond the soothingly familiar scent of his cologne as he continued the massage.

Warnings flashed in her mind and she couldn’t ignore them. Deliberately, she turned slowly, lifting her eyes to his. Taylor noted a slight amount of apprehension in his gaze. But mostly she saw a smoldering, tightly leashed passion that threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

It was easier—not to mention smarter—to simply walk away before this went down the proverbial path of no return. That was the wise move and she knew it. Which was why she lifted her palms and placed them against his chest. She fully intended to push him away, toss out a cutting barb, then find sanctuary in her room.

Those good intentions pretty much evaporated the minute she felt the taut plane of corded muscle beneath her palms. The rapid, even pace of his heartbeat. Shane’s body was as solid as a statue and as unyielding as his clear blue eyes. Her fingers fanned out, as if acting of their own volition. Her normally sharp intellect was no match for the years of curiosity that fueled the longing building in the core of her being.

The pads of his fingertips slipped slowly up, over the flushed skin of her throat. His eyes fixed on her mouth, on the way her pale, rose-tinted lips parted ever so slightly when his thumbs hooked beneath her chin. Her eyes blazed but she didn’t look away. Brave Taylor. Maddening Taylor. Shane wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

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