The McGavin Brothers
Book 12

Baby, it’s cold outside...

Foreman Pete Sawyer loves working for Taryn Maroney, owner of the Crimson Clouds guest ranch. She’s the sexiest cowgirl he’s met. Unfortunately, getting chummy with the boss could cost him his heart and his job. But when a Christmastime blizzard traps them together, good intentions take a holiday...

Excerpt

Well, wasn’t this a recipe for disaster. Taryn ate the most amazing French toast of her life seated next to the virile cowboy who’d made it. A sexual buzz laced with a sugar high put her in a very precarious position.
Pete tempted her on an elemental level that her logical mind resisted and her body craved. A man who could make French toast this amazing had to be a very sensual person.
The evidence was clear tonight, but the signs had been there all along—the way he stroked Honey Butter’s golden coat, the pleasure he took in spreading fresh-smelling straw in each stall, his comment about the softness of the blanket they’d put on the bed yesterday…
The bed incident should have clued her in, but it had taken this melt-in-your-mouth taste extravaganza to deliver the message in flashing neon. Chances were excellent that his sensuality would carry over into lovemaking. He would leave no inch of her body unexplored in a celebration of touch, taste and visual delight. He would breathe her in and relish her cries.
The longer she sat inches away from him the more she wanted him to do all of that. ASAP. Time to come up with a topic of conversation that wouldn’t make her current agitation any worse. “Did you check the weather report for tomorrow?”
“No, can’t say I did. And I left my phone in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get mine.” She nudged the table aside just enough to escape the confining space. That was part of the problem, being so close to his stimulating self. She headed down the hall toward her bedroom where she’d left her phone.
As she picked it up, she glanced at her king-sized bed. Now there was a telling purchase. Although she wasn’t looking for a sexual partner, she’d bought a king instead of a double or queen. Clearly she’d expected to share it with someone eventually. Just not the man currently ensconced on her sofa.
She carried her phone back to the living room and remained standing while she opened the weather app. “Tomorrow’s predicted to be about the same as today. No precipitation, very little wind. Should be fine for what we want to do.”
“Good to know.”
Setting her phone on the coffee table, she glanced at the fireplace. Another welcome distraction. “The fire needs—”
“Let me.” He stood. “I’m finished.”
“All right. Thanks.” She settled onto the couch.
“Do you want me to put on another log?”
“Better not. After this I’ll be ready for bed.” Whoops.
“Me, too.”
She stared at him. Was he saying…
“But I’ll help you clean up before I go.” After rearranging the chunks of blackened wood and coaxing the fire to life, he replaced the screen and turned back with a smile. “Unless you’re trying to get rid of me.”
She crumpled her napkin into a ball in her lap and cleared her throat. “In a way.” She glanced at him. “But not because I don’t want you here.”
The mild concern in his eyes was replaced by simmering heat. “Then you do want me here?”
She didn’t answer.
His gaze searched hers. “I’ll go.” He leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers in a slow, gentle kiss. “Goodnight, Taryn.”


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Copyright 2001-2019 Vicki Lewis Thompson