Call Me

“It’s up to you.”

How could a four-word invitation scribbled on a business card drive a normally sensible woman to be so… impulsive?

It wasn’t Harley Golden’s style to call a perfect stranger. But here she was, after a brief encounter on a flight home from a business trip, having risque conversations with the man who’d handed her his card: the unforgettable and mysterious and obviously loaded Gardner Barnes.

The late night calls aren’t enough for long, however, but she’s not sure she’s ready for more. So what’s next? Fly across Texas in his plane? Talk face-to-face? Fall head over heels for a man who is already married to his ranch? A man who has lust down to an art but doesn’t believe in love?

“Writing with powerful intensity, Alison Kent mesmerizes us with a compelling love story brimming with scorching sensuality and abiding love.” — RT Book Reviews, 4.5 stars, TOP PICK

The first time she’d seen him, she’d had on three inch pumps; he’d been wearing Italian loafers. That had to be the reason he hadn’t seemed as tall then as he did now.

On the plane they hadn’t stood this close, so close he filled every inch of her vision. That had to be why she didn’t remember his chest being as broad beneath navy silk as it was now under white chambray.

But try as she might, she couldn’t come up with any rational explanation for the man to look so sexy, so breathtakingly magnificent, so utterly male. And that was exactly the way he looked now.

Even when he stepped closer, so close she had to tilt back her head, she couldn’t look away from his eyes. Eyes she didn’t remember being this green, sparkling with this much life–or fire. He blinked slowly, lazily, the easy sweep of his long dark lashes at odds with the banked emotion behind.

The peripheral movement of his arm was more a feeling than an image, the flex of a shoulder, the crinkle of crisp cotton. Trembling, Harley breathed in the scent of soap and sun-kissed cloth, and waited for his touch.

His breath stirred the wisps of unmanageable hair curling at her temple, the contact no more than a stroke of air on skin. Harley shivered, hunched deep into the turned up collar of her belted wrap, and waited.

Angling his head toward her, Gardner reached up, trailed his thumb along her lower lip, tugging on the center until she wet the spot with a flick of her tongue.

“Cat got your tongue, Harley Golden?”

No, but you do, she thought. His flavor filled her mouth. She spoke the first words that floated through her mind. “I didn’t know you were a cowboy.”

His knuckles grazed her jaw line, his huge palm sizzled against her neck, his fingers speared into the hair behind her ear. “Does that matter to you?”

Not only did it not matter, but from the moment their eyes had made contact, the rest of her world had ceased to exist. Instinctively, she shook her head.

“Good.” The brim of his Resistol cast an intimate shadow over her face. “Because I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

The warmth of his smile tickled her cheek. Her breasts tingled, her blood thrummed, and Harley felt like she’d been waiting forever.

Sliding his hand from her neck down her shoulder, Gardner wrapped his fingers possessively around her upper arm and backed a step away.

With the return of her space, came her sanity. Harley shook off her daze to the murmur of voices and the sounds of shuffling chairs, rustling paper, and hammers on nails. Never in her life had she lost all awareness at a single touch.

Gardner Barnes was a dangerous man.