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ago. Move back to his small hometown and make a new life on this secluded property. Work at the ranch would give both he and Claire the home and stability he needed. He’d be able to forget his past, the pain of his accident and losing his career—the only thing he’d ever cared about in his life.
With enough hard work, he’d be so exhausted he wouldn’t miss the smell of the arena, would stop aching for the feel of a thousand-pound bull beneath him and the adrenaline rush that came with those seconds in the ring.
With enough patience, his daughter would stop looking at him like he was the enemy.
Now he had three California misfits crowding his space. Josh didn’t do people and their problems. He had friends, sure. Other bull riders who were like him, happy to spend time drinking beer and watching old footage. Once guys left the ring and made homes and families for themselves, he usually lost touch. He was a loner and liked it that way. No complications.
The woman who walked over to the picture window at the far end of the family room was the biggest complication he’d ever met. She complicated his life. What happened to his insides when he watched her was a problem he sure didn’t need.
He took a few steps toward her, not close enough to smell the scent that always surrounded her—some strange mix of honey and cinnamon—sweet with a bit of kick. But close enough that she couldn’t not be aware of him. He wanted her to notice him as much as he did her.
“Do you two have a thing going?” he asked casually.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “You mean Ryan?”
“Who else?”
“Does it matter?”
A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “Stop answering my questions with questions.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “My thirteen-year-old daughter is right down the hall from him. I don’t want her waking up to any moaning and groaning next door.”
One side of her mouth kicked up. “What if Ryan’s at my cabin?”
He fought the urge to growl. “I don’t need a soap opera played out in front of the clients.”
She turned to him fully. “I don’t do soap operas.” Her eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I’m a moaner?”
Only the fact he’d spent the past three nights imagining the sounds she’d make when she was in his arms, under him, wrapped around him.
He took a step closer, so near that her subtle scent surrounded him and he could feel her breath against his jaw. His fingers reached out and pushed a wayward lock of streaked hair behind her ear. He’d only meant to touch her that little bit, but she turned her cheek, ever so slightly, into his palm. Her warm skin tempted him, called to his inner need. It wasn’t a fight he could possibly win.
He brought his other hand up to cradle her face, tracing the edge of her lips with a calloused thumb. Her eyes remained glued to his mouth, and as he came nearer they drifted closed.
The desire to kiss her raced through him like a runaway train, almost knocking him back with its speed and strength. He needed to know if she tasted as sweet as she smelled, if her mouth was as soft as her skin. This prickly, snappish woman who played it so tough on the outside had sparked something in him he’d never felt before. Because he had a feeling that on the inside she was soft and warm. He craved knowing that side of her.
Josh tried to pull away, but he’d never been much for self-preservation instincts. This moment was no different.
She made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
He was a goner.
“I knew it,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Why are you still talking?” she asked, her eyes dark with the same desire he knew was reflected in his.
He pressed his lips to hers. Although he’d known she’d taste amazing, he wasn’t prepared for his body’s reaction to her. Electricity charged through him as he brushed his tongue across the seam of her lips. He forced himself to keep the kiss gentle when what he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and carry her to his bedroom.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said on a ragged breath.
He stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Lord help me, no.” Her arms twined around his neck, drawing him closer.
What a hypocrite, to complain that his daughter might catch wind of her and Ryan when Josh was ready to get naked in front of an oversize window.
The window. Claire. The thought of Claire seeing him play tonsil hockey with Sara made him pull away from her.
“What’s the matter?”
He rested his forehead on hers and drew in several steadying breaths. “Everything. This summer is about Claire. About starting over with her. A second chance.”
“Second chances,” she said, her voice impossibly quiet. “I get that.” The next moment she pushed hard on his chest. “You know what you are, Lone Ranger?”
He shook his head as she started past him, wondering how she could go from soft and pliant to prickly in less time than he could stay on the meanest bull. “What’s that, Hollywood Barbie?”
“A tease.”
Fighting words. She’d probably chosen them purposely to break the spell between them, but he couldn’t let it go. He grabbed her wrist and swung her around to face him. “You’d better take that back. Now.”
She shook free of his grasp. “You won’t let anyone in and you’ll throw out any excuse in the book so you don’t have to.” Her eyes glinted, daring him to argue.
His gaze locked on hers, and he let her see how much he craved her. Her breath caught. She took a small step back.
“Do you want in, Sara? Really?”
She looked at a point past his shoulder for a few moments, and when her eyes finally found his, she shook her head. “I want out. Out of Colorado. Out of debt. Out of owing people.”
The right answer for both of them, Josh knew, but a sliver of pain sliced across his chest. He wasn’t the kind of man women took a chance on. He had nothing to offer except a wild night between the sheets and a wave in the morning.
Even if she didn’t know it, he could tell Sara needed a man who would stick.
Joe Hollywood upstairs wasn’t it, but neither was Josh.
“It’s better this way,” she told him. “No complications.”
Right.
She tapped her fingers against her jaw as if deep in thought. “I don’t like you that much anyway,” she said finally. “You’re not my type.”
“Could you stop waving red flags in front of me?” He dug his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her again. Every time she made some kind of ridiculous comment, he itched to prove her wrong. Over and over again.
As if sensing his intentions, she took another step away. “Sorry. No red flags. I have some voice mails to return, so I’ll see you later. Or not. Probably not.”
“Are we still in good shape?”
Her brow arched.
“Bookings,” he clarified. “Guests. Good shape with actually making money this summer.” He hadn’t wanted to turn the office side of the ranch over to her, but as the start of the season got closer, it became harder to balance the preparations on the property with the work involved in making reservations and talking to potential customers. Sara had insisted that customer service was her strong suit, and despite her sassy attitude with him, so far she’d been a whiz. In less than a week, she’d organized the jumble of paperwork in the office, confirmed their current reservations and followed up with a half-dozen prospective clients.