Tempting the Cowboy by Elizabeth Otto Page A

flickered in his eyes, mixed with a little surprise. Her eyebrows rose. Well, why stop now? She had plenty more secrets. Rylan licked her lips, the sweet remnant taste of tangy wine on the tip of her tongue. Leave it to a little alcohol to give her a hefty dose of I-don’t-give-a-shit-anymore. And she’d only had a few sips—just enough to take the edge off and soften her mood.
    She lifted her chin. “Did you know I got shot?”
    Cole’s head tipped to the side. His palm rested on her knee, threatening to rob coherent thought away as his body heat pressed into her flesh. Gently, his fingers squeezed her thigh in a move that was equal parts protective and sensual. Rylan was glad she didn’t have to choose between the two; she loved them both.
    “Ah, no.”
    Rylan tossed back her hair. His expression darkened as she slid the silk skirt up her until her left leg was bare to where her thigh creased against her thong. She pointed to a small pucker mark on her skin about three inches down from her hip.
    “I took down a rapist and got a bullet right there. Chased him through a bar and the bastard shot me. I still took him down, bleeding all over the place.” She nodded. “That made me a hero, apparently. Was just doing my job. I caught the judge’s eye and stupid me thought I actually meant something to him.”
    Cole turned his body to fully face her, his grip on her leg pressing firmer. His lashes flickered. A small muscle jerked in his cheek, and if she didn’t know better—because, really, Cole Haywood could not be capable of having real emotion on her behalf, not as hot and cold as he’d been toward her—he looked intensely angry.
    “What happened?” He brushed the back of her upper arm with the fingers of his free hand. A liquid hot shiver went through her as she let the skirt fall.
    “I was a cover.” She fiddled with an earring, knowing that she should really, really stop talking, but she couldn’t seem to. “That’s why he wouldn’t touch me, you know, more than once every few months. I was just the cover-up for his dirty little secret. I was the safe wife—the face for the media to latch onto for his up-and-coming political campaign.” She leaned closer, wishing she’d had a little more wine before she quickly realized she didn’t really need it. For some morbid reason, spilling her guts to Cole felt kind of nice. “I didn’t take his name when we married. That really pissed him off.”
    He took a slow breath, his eyebrows hitching for her to continue. “A cover?”
    God, how she wanted to lean into him. Feel those strong arms around her. Part the unbuttoned opening of his shirt and taste the tan skin over his collarbone. Fantasy. Pure, wonderful, delicious fantasy.
    Too bad her real life had been anything but. “The second time I ever drank wine was the day I found the judge…fucking a hooker on my kitchen table.”

    Cole’s balance slipped against the bar. Rylan’s eyes went huge when she saw his reaction, but how could he help it? These things were just spilling out of her mouth, as calm and easy as if this were an everyday conversation about the weather or what to have for dinner. He suspected she hadn’t even had much to drink. She was too steady, her voice too even. The little bit she’d had probably helped loosen her reserve, but the rest was her own doing. Why the hell did she want him to know these things, and worse, why did he feel so invested?
    The soft give of her thigh under his hand reminded him he was crossing a line…again. He was touching her, again. And he couldn’t give a flying fuck. He wanted Rylan to keep talking, to let him in on her secrets. It pained him to know the hurt look in her eyes—rimmed with real, vivid agony—was caused by a man who was supposed to love her. He couldn’t stop the memory of how she’d cared for Birdie this morning—how deeply the tender side of her got under his skin. He couldn’t shake it off. All day, he’d been trying, but the