There were only two things he was really good at. Riding bulls and satisfying women.But Joss wasn’t just another woman to him. Deep in his bones he knew she was special.She was the eight-second ride. The gold buckle.

He slid the jack beneath the frame. “I’m down here now...Might as well go all the way.”Joss shut her eyes as his words conjured other things he could do while he was down there. Oh God. She was going to hell.

You should come and watch me.”She frowned. “Watch you?”A small smiled nudged his lips. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know where his mind had just gone. “Ride bulls. On the weekend.”There were probably about a hundred things she’d put her hand up to watch this guy do, a lot of them just as dirty as the things he’d been thinking. Watching him get tossed around for entertainment on the back of a large angry animal wasn’t one of them.

I liked you better when you were drugged.”“Yeah well, I liked you better when I was drugged too.

She didn’t notice the partially fogged vanity mirror as she walked toward the bathroom, either—two thick fluffy towels in hand. Not until she was inside anyway and a pair of jeans and fringed leather chaps tossed carelessly over the edge of the vanity came into view.She almost dropped the towels as she spun around.“Hey.”The Dixie Chicks crooning, there’s your trouble, straight into her ear was a particularly ironic twist.

Thankfully he was wearing a towel—even if it was positioned sinfully low on his hips.But that still left an awful lot to look at. An awful lot. Like the scattered droplets of water on his shoulders and chest and abs. And his nipples. Flat and brown and so evenly spaced she wanted to get out a ruler and measure them.Or possibly use her tongue.

What do you want?” he whispered against the thick thud of her carotid pulse. “Tell me what you want, baby.”No one had ever called her baby. The fact that it had come from a guy seven years her junior should have been ridiculous. But it wasn’t. It curled her toes.

If anyone had told Joss last week that she’d be dry humping a twenty-seven-year-old she’d met only five days prior in the bathroom of the loft above her garage, she’d have committed them for psychiatric evaluation. But here she was and she could not get enough.Her body throbbed with need. Maybe she needed committing?

His jerky breath hit her system like a drug and she was in thrall. Of his potency. And hers. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to keep going, keep touching him like this until he lost control. She wanted to bring him to his knees, this cocky young guy who called her baby and made her want things she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.