Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)(6)

“You must be the ride?” the night clerk asked.

“Yeah,” Wade replied.

“Over there.” The clerk jerked his head toward the fireplace where a brunette slumbered in a wingback chair. He approached quietly, hesitant to wake her.

Although her head was cocked to the side and several locks of hair hung in her face, what he could see of her wasn’t half-bad. She was young. Midtwenties likely. She was also lightly snoring. His gaze fixed in fascination on the strands of hair ebbing and flowing in rhythm with her puffs of breath. He couldn’t suppress an amused smile…until his gaze settled on those softly parted lips. She had a gorgeous mouth, the kind of mouth a man liked to see wrapped around…

Hell, what’s wrong with me? Has it really been so long that my brain’s now stuck in low gear? His conscience also stabbed him for not getting her a room. Too late for that now. He’d just have to do what he could to make it all up to her.

He reached down to wake her, only to startle at the sudden blast of rap music sounding from her phone. She jolted upright, looking wildly about until her gaze met his. Her eyes were a stormy shade between blue and green that widened and darkened as recognition dawned.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He felt the corner of his mouth kick up and then the full irony of the situation took over. It was all just too much for Wade. He threw back his head with a roar of laughter while the rapper on her phone droned on.

The crease between her eyes deepened as he palmed away the tears of mirth. She silenced the phone with a glower that she then directed at him. He could hardly blame her. The last twenty-four hours hadn’t been the smoothest sailing after all.

“You are Wade Knowlton of Evans and Knowlton?” It was more accusation than question.

“Yes, indeed.” He doffed his hat. “At your service, ma’am.”

“But you can’t be!” she protested. “You were the obnoxious cowboy in Denver!”

“Obnoxious?” He raised a brow. “That’s mighty ungracious when I gave up my seat to you and then drove all night long.”

Her expression softened infinitesimally. “I thought you’d decided to take the later flight.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “It was purely an act of chivalry on my part. I couldn’t fly in good conscience after watching your little meltdown.”

“Then I suppose I owe you an apology.” Her gaze wavered from his. “And a thank-you.”

“Apology accepted and no thanks are needed, although it seems my sacrifice was in vain since I find you stranded all over again.” He flashed a teasing grin. “Does misfortune follow you everywhere, Miz Powell?”

“Not normally.” She pursed the lips that he found increasingly fascinating. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m thinking it might be prudent for me to increase my insurance before I drive you anywhere.”

Her brows gathered in another scowl. Even sleep mussed and growing pissed, she was a looker—with a great ass to boot. His day was definitely looking up.

“Mr. Knowlton, I’m hardly in the mood for jokes. I’m only here because my father died and I need to settle his affairs. And quickly so I can get back home.”

“And where is that?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Home. Where do you hail from, Miz Powell?”

“Georgia,” she answered. “Born in Toccoa but I live in greater Atlanta now.”

He cocked his head. “You don’t sound much like a Georgia peach to me.”

“What? Do you think we all talk like Scarlett O’Hara?” she fired back with unveiled sarcasm.

“She wasn’t really a Southerner, you know. In fact, she wasn’t even American.”

“Scarlett O’Hara? But she’s an American icon.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, darlin’ but Vivian Leigh was British.”

“You’re kidding.” She regarded him with skepticism. “How would you even know that?”

“Gone with the Wind is Mama’s favorite film. She’s an endless fount of trivia on it.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I was once Southern-fried with milk gravy, but I’ve worked very hard to lose the drawl.”

His puzzled look forced her explanation.

“It’s how Southerners eat everything. Fried with gravy.” She studied him with a perplexed look. “Actually, I think you sound more Southern than me.”

“I blame my Mama for that, too,” he replied. “She was an old-time rodeo queen from Amarillo, Texas. She homeschooled me and my brother Dirk until high school, so the Texas twang kinda stuck. Now as for Georgia, I find it a real shame you’d want to get rid of it. I find a woman with a soft Southern drawl incredibly sexy.”

“Tell you what, when I decide I want to be sexy for you, I’ll be sure to turn it on full force.”

She was a real firecracker, this Georgia girl. He liked that.

He answered her with a grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“In your dreams, cowboy,” he thought he heard her mutter under her breath.

He cocked his head. “What was that?”

“Coffee?” She smiled wide. “If I recall, you promised me Starbucks.”