“You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake. What the hell do you think an erection means? I’ve been walking around with one—hungover, by the way—all damn day.”
She bit her lip. “Really?”
“You’re starting to piss me off, Sparkle.”
“Same goes, Grumpy Ryan,” she said. But she was smiling when she said it. “Can we get on with our day?”
“One more thing,” he said.
She didn’t see it coming. Not from Mr. I Plan Out Everything. Ryan fisted a hand in her vest and yanked her toward him. Her seatbelt gave just enough for their mouths to collide and tangle over the console.
His lips were hard. She imagined it was from all the excessive brooding. Felt him pouring his frustration into the kiss, stealing the air from her lungs. It was too much and not enough. So she shoved her fingers into his hair and gripped. His hat fell off into his lap. She opened her mouth to say something, but his tongue stormed inside, rendering her speechless.
There was nothing gentle or romantic about the way his mouth moved over hers. It was a no-nonsense assault. A battle she didn’t feel the least bit sorry over losing.
The only thing she knew for sure in that moment was the fact that Ryan Sosa was one hell of a kisser. Abruptly, he released her, dropping her back into her seat. She felt boneless and so very warm.
“Wow,” she whispered.
He jammed the hat she’d dislodged back on his head, then adjusted his erection in his jeans. “Now we can go,” he said, sounding more surly than when they were fighting.
“Wow,” she whispered again, not sure if she’d regained control of her limbs yet.
The knock on her window scared the hell out of her.
“Holy shit!” she yelped.
“Car trouble, doc?” Sheriff Cardona peered into the vehicle, looking concerned.
Sammy felt her cheeks turn fuchsia.
16
“I can’t believe we got caught making out by the sheriff,” Sammy said as she turned left onto a paved lane lined with white fencing. “What are we? Teenagers?”
“Oh, good. You’ve regained the powers of speech.” Ryan smirked. He felt pretty damn good about his performance. Granted, he’d only meant to shut her up for a minute. But the way her mouth moved under his, those sexy little moans she made at the back of her throat, getting carried away had been the only choice.
“Yeah, you can joke about it because you don’t have to see the sheriff every damn day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s not in the gossip group.”
Snow-covered pastureland rolled out to the left, woods to the right. It was picture-perfect. Even to a grouch like him.
Ahead, smoke rose from the stone chimney of a large timber cabin. On the front porch, a pack of baby goats clamored at one of the front windows.
“What is it with this town and goats?” he asked.
“Those are the same goats,” she told him. “That window is Jax’s office. He’s a screenwriter. They’re waiting for him to finish writing for the day.”
Goat Guy. Ryan remembered his knee-jerk reaction of annoyance to the flirtatious goat herder. Well, Goat Guy hadn’t just kissed the hell out of Dr. Sammy Ames. He had.
The huge barn rose out of the snow, buttoned up at the seams. No hint of disrepair here. There were a few horses under blankets dotting the white pastures.
“Is it safe for them to be out in the cold?” he asked, pulling his gloves out of his pockets.
“Most farm animals are hardier than you’d give them credit for. Fresh air’s good for them.”
“What are we doing here?” he asked.
“Pregnant mare check,” she said, cutting the engine and dragging on her gloves. “Can you be nice in there, or do I need to lock you in the car? Between the farm, the riding school, and the breeding program, Pierce Acres is my biggest client. And if you piss off Joey, I’ll have to grovel for you and I won’t like that.”
“I can be nice,” he insisted. Probably.
“Try hard,” Sammy prompted.
“Fine. I, uh, like your scarf,” he said, desperately latching on to something that wouldn’t be misconstrued as a double entendre or piss her off again. He wondered if she had any idea just how distracting she was, with those full pink lips that still had the “just kissed” look to them. Her eyes, a darker shade of lavender now, were wide and still just a little glassy. He wanted to kiss her all over again. To unzip that vest and fill his hands with her while he tasted her mouth.
She glanced down at the soft, green fabric around her neck and looked embarrassed. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Now what?” he asked, exasperated and very, very hard.
“Well, fun fact. Your cousin gave it to me.”
He was appalled. No, more than appalled. He was downright horrified. “You hung on to a ratty scarf that some douchebag gave you fifteen years ago? You don’t actually think you’re in love with him, do you?”
“What? God, no! It was a nice memory and a great scarf. Jeez! And you said you liked it!”
On closer inspection, maybe it had been a great scarf at one time. Now it was missing more fringe than it had. There was a distinct bite mark in the hem. Probably llama. “Yeah, well, you put me on the spot, and I lied. I don’t like it. It’s a shitty scarf, and you should get rid of it.”
“I’m confused, is this you being nice?” she quipped.
“Get out of the car, Sam,” he growled.
They exited the vehicle. And Ryan took a deep breath of winter air. Despite his frustrations—sexual and otherwise—with Sammy, he felt like they were finally back on an even keel. She was happy. His hangover was almost gone. He had a starting point for Carson’s problem. He’d had the best Italian meal of his life. And he’d kissed a woman breathless.
It could almost be labeled a good day.
Sammy led the way into the barn. As he stepped inside, he marveled that it was his second barn in one day. What the hell was happening to his life?
Inside, it was warmer than he expected. Cleaner too. Practically livable. It smelled better than the dairy barn, which, to be fair, hadn’t been terrible either. But this sweet aroma was almost good. The scents of hay and horse and sawdust tangled together to create something interesting. If there were a horse barn candle, he’d consider buying it for his condo.
He thought of the scents of his own workplace. Fresh paper, stale coffee, the ghosts of cologne and furniture polish that lingered behind in the conference rooms. It didn’t smell like life. Not like this.
The order of it all piqued his interest too. He appreciated the organization that was evident. There was an entire room of horse-riding equipment—a tack room, according to the sign next to the door—all shined and hung. Glossy black wheelbarrows and no-nonsense tools dripped dry on the stone floor. The hose that had cleaned them was coiled neatly on the mount on the wall.
Horse heads, huge yet dignified, poked out of stalls and eyed them as they passed. A big, black steed stared imperiously at them then gave the stall gate a hard gouge with his front hoof.
“Watch out for this guy,” Sammy warned with a grin. “He’s a biter.”
“I know nothing about horseflesh, but that’s one hell of a horse,” he said, eyeing the beast.