Award-winning author Victoria Vane lets loose the fourth in the Hot Cowboy Nights series
WILD HORSES COULDN’T BRING THEM TOGETHER…
With exceptional talent and looks, cowboy “horse whisperer” Keith Russo once had the world at his feet – until his career was unwittingly destroyed by an aspiring filmmaker. After being rejected by his family for exploiting his Native American heritage, Keith has no choice but to turn back to his humble beginnings as a wild horse wrangler.
BUT MAYBE THEIR PASSION CAN…
Miranda Sutton always dreamed of making films, until wild mustangs captured her heart. But turning her grandmother’s Montana ranch into a wild horse sanctuary proves harder than she thought. She needs someone who knows wild horses. Keith and the mustangs need each other. And while working together to save the herd, Keith and Miranda discover a passion as wild as the mustangs they love.
Praise for Slow Hand:
“Scorching…witty…a red-hot cowboy tale…their sexual chemistry crackles.” –Publishers Weekly
EXCERPT: SADDLE UP (Hot Cowboy Nights #4) VICTORIA VANE
Miranda was freezing cold, but she was also terrified. Of him. Of the feelings he’d roused in her.
He reached out his hand, beckoning softly. “Don’t be foolish, Miranda. Come and get warm.”
Tamping down her trepidations, she rose and settled herself lengthwise beside him. His arm came around her, wrapping her in his blanket, and instantly cocooning her in his body heat. He pulled her closer against him and nuzzled into her hair. “I don’t understand you at all, Miranda…but I like how you smell.”
She relaxed. “You do?”
“Yes. I do.” He burrowed into her neck, his breath hot and his lips soft. “Very much.”
She whispered back, “If we’re making confessions, I like how you feel.”
“Is that so?” He rolled her onto her back so that his body lay on top of hers. His mouth stretched into a slow smile. “Is there a particular part of me you like?”
Her face heated. If she’d had any doubt his desire was real, the proof was palpable through two layers of thick denim. “Um…maybe that didn’t come out quite right. I meant that you make me feel safe.”
“Safe?” His thumb skirted softly over her lips. “Maybe you aren’t as safe as you think.” He added in a tone that made her shiver with anticipation, “I think perhaps Goldilocks is about to discover that the old woman is really a big bad wolf.”
“You’re mixing up the stories, Keith. Goldilocks was with the three bears. Little Red Riding Hood was with the wolf.”
“You make films your way, and let me tell the stories,” he said. “Storytelling is in my blood, after all.”
“All right, then. Have it your way. Tell me this story about Goldilocks and the Big Bad Wolf.”
He flashed a big, bad lupine grin. “My version begins much the same as what you have heard before, but when Goldilocks enters her grandmother’s tepee, she exclaims, ‘Huttsi, what large hands you have!’
‘All the better to touch you with, my child,’ the wolf replies.
‘Huttsi, what a big mouth you have!’
‘All the better to kiss you with, my dear!’
‘Huttsi, what a long tongue you have!’
‘All the better to lick every inch of you, my sweet.’”
His eyes gleamed mischievously. Miranda suspected she knew what was coming next.
“‘But, Huttsi, what an enormous—’”
“Don’t say it!” She covered his mouth. His chuckle warmed both her hand and her ears.
“Don’t you want to know how it ends?” he asked.
“I’m not certain I do.”
“I’ll tell you anyway. He devours her bite by delectable bite.” He flashed another very wolfish smile. “You see?” His smile disappeared. “You are never safe with a wolf.”
His lips were soft, smooth, and so very knowing as his mouth melded with hers with slow, toe-curling deliberation. There was nothing hurried or clumsy, none of the typical hesitancy, nose bumping, or teeth clashing of a first kiss. Taking her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss by tiny degrees, increasing pressure, adding licks and nips, teasing and torturing her until his hot tongue breached her mouth. Their tongues met, sliding and tangling—both a prelude and promise of so much more. She’d never been kissed by a man who knew how to give her everything she wanted, but Keith did.
Shutting her eyes, she recalled a night spent in another desert when she’d driven down to Baja California for a project in time-lapse videography. After hours of scouting, she’d located a small growth of thin, inconspicuous, dead-looking branches hidden among a patch of scrub—a night-blooming cereus. After setting up cameras, she’d spent the night vigilantly watching for the desert queen to unfurl for its single night of glory. When the flower finally opened, it had perfumed the air with a sweet and delicate scent. She sat watching the flower until it had wilted and withered away with the first light of dawn. Watching that bloom come to life had been one her most memorable experiences.
Keith made her feel very much like that desert flower waiting to bloom. She yearned to be touched…to be loved…and her resistance to him was fading fast. The kiss intensified, blinding her with blissful sensation. Nothing compared to the taste of his mouth, of his musky scent, of the feel of his warm hands on her skin. It was everything she’d hope for and more. Any lingering doubts vaporized like a puff of breath in the cold night air.
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