Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(135)

herself in him. Beg him to take his loan business elsewhere so they could continue

this. Beg him to understand she’d never had—maybe she’d never find—another man who

knew what she needed like he did. And that pissed her off. Stupid traitorous body.

Stupid sex-addled brain. “You can’t just—”


“I can, I will, and I did. I want you nekkid and sitting on my bar when I get home.”


“This is unfair.” Why was she pushing him? Because he pushed her into a corner first?

Or because she wanted their last night together to be memorable?


“Says you. I think I’m bein’ more than fair.”


“I won’t do it.”


Bennett eased back, fire dancing in his eyes. “Gonna run rather than face the

consequences?”


“No. I didn’t do anything wrong.”


“You insulted me.”


“Maybe I was insulting Rielle.”


He half-snarled, “That earned you another ten.”


She backed up a step. Then another. And he stalked her.


“I thought I heard you sneer that you weren’t scared,” he said in that low,

dangerous voice.


“I’m not.” Such a liar. “But I’ve done nothing to warrant punishment.”


“Guilty until proven innocent in my world. So you’d better have a convincing argument

against punishment to present to me when I get home.”


“Why should I bother? You’re going to make it hurt anyway. Hurt worse than it already

does.” Stupid move, Ainsley, you aren’t supposed to tell him that. You’re supposed

to be the cool-headed professional and the obedient sub who won’t let him see your

disappointment on any level.


Ben gave her a look she’d never seen before. “Ainsley. I never meant—”


“Found them.” Rielle waved a stack of paper bags. “I also grabbed the herbs. They

should be refrigerated.”


Grateful for the interruption, she practically ran to Rielle. “Thanks. How much do I

owe you?”


“Twenty bucks oughta cover it.”


Ainsley figured that was a low amount after she loaded the four heavy bags into her

trunk. She ignored Bennett’s hard, hot stare that seemed to liquefy her bones as she

chatted with Rielle.


She didn’t look his way when she climbed in her car. She hesitated at the end of the

driveway.


A right turn led back into town. A left turn led to Ben’s house.


She knew his eyes were on her vehicle as she turned left.


Ainsley wasn’t naked when Ben walked in the door. Something smelled good, and while

the thought of a homemade meal awaiting him stirred a weird longing, she hadn’t

followed his instructions.


And she didn’t seem particularly perplexed about that.


She sliced cubed potatoes and dropped them in a pot of boiling liquid. She tossed in a

handful of herbs and nestled the lid over the steam. Then she looked up at him. “Now

that I’ve got that started, we can talk about your—”


“No talkin’.”


“But you always want to talk about this stuff.”


“Not today.” Ben’s gaze swept over her fully clothed body. “Strip. Now.”