Stripped Down by Anne Marsh

muscled from riding for hours on the range and I love the way he looks, as if he’s made of delicious muscle. He’s hard through and through, except when he gets this look in his eyes when he’s staring at me. I’d give almost anything to know what he’s thinking then, but we’re supposed to be working out this business with Auntie Dee’s property. Not flirting or whatever it is we’re doing.
    “You want to be careful making promises,” I warn him. “Rory claims I’m high maintenance.”
    Angel’s eyes darken. Right. He and Rory have the insta-hate thing going on. “You remember what I told you?”
    “You tell me lots of things.” I shrug. “I ignore them.”
    A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Come over here and I’ll remind you.”
    “Remind me from over there. Or better yet, from downstairs.”
    “Scared?” He asks softly and I know I should be. Angel has decided he wants me, and he doesn’t do anything by halves. He’ll take everything I have to offer, and no matter how much he gives back, I’m not sure I can survive his sexy brand of passion.
    So I shake my head. “Nope.”
    “Liar,” he growls, prowling closer. “I told you that if you came back to Lonesome, I’d make you mine.”
    “News flash. We’re not living in a feudal society.”
    “Wanna bet?” He stops in front of me, his gaze meeting mine. I swear I’m burning up, that it’s a million degrees here.
    “I don’t gamble.” Especially when I can’t afford to lose.
    He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m open to persuasion. Or I could just tie you up and keep you.”
    His hands capture mine, gently tugging my hands up and over my head. I’m pretty certain I forget to breathe, my heart pounding against my ribs loud enough to be heard outside. Parts of me clench, wanting to seize my cowboy and hold him tight. Instead, I summon up all my will power. It’s like the first day of a new diet, I tell myself. The first day’s the worst. If I deny myself a taste of Angel today, it will be even easier tomorrow.
    I can’t help but think Angel would be single-minded in his pursuit of pleasure. He doesn’t want feelings, but he does want to give me orgasms. Ordinarily, that might not be a bad thing, but I don’t think I just hand over the reins of my body like that. I’ve been tied up, held down, pounded into—and it hurts. Pain’s off my list. It’s not that I don’t like sex or don’t sometimes like it hard, but I’ll never, ever put myself in a position where I’m vulnerable.
    “Sex isn’t going to make me change my mind,” I say. His mouth is so close to mine that my lips brush his when I speak. How badly could one kiss hurt?
    “Rose,” he whispers, his fingers curling into mine.
    He wants me to be his, but he’s not making me any promises or counter-offers. He’s not going to be mine, and I won’t do unequal partnerships anymore.
    I look him in the eye. “Let me go.”
    I don’t know how denying myself what we both want will be easier tomorrow, but I don’t see how it can get any harder. Angel curses roughly, but then he shoves away and strides toward the door. I’ve won our first battle, which is funny. Because it feels like I’ve lost something important.

    ANGEL
    After three days of close quarters, I’m rethinking my master plan. Rory the Tattooed Asshole has parked his RV out in my yard and is staying there. He seems to be making in-roads—or trying—on my cowboys, but whatever. Rose, on the other hand, is right here—and yet she’s so fucking far away she might as well be living on Mars. I’ve figured out her schedule, though. She’s not much for morning, so I get up even earlier than usual so I can take care of ranch business and be back at the house by ten or eleven, which is when she rolls out of the goddamned RV she refuses to abandon. She’s usually wearing a teeny pair of cotton boy shorts that hug her ass and a camisole that stops a good two inches north of