Page 20 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

And then nothing.

Not happening.

My thoughts swirl in a circle like water spinning in the drain.

Why am I standing naked in an ice storm?To get Boots out of my thoughts.

Why is she still in my thoughts?Because I can’t get the image of her out of my brain.

Why can’t I get the image of her out of my brain?Because she’s so fucking spectacular that I’m now standing naked in an ice storm.

And that’s when it hits me—there’s no running water in the cabin, of any temperature.She can’t be comfortable and she sure as hell can’t wash off her mascara.I need to do something about that.

Ah, fuck.

Now I’m picturing Boots taking a shower or soaking in the bath.In my mind’s eye, I see water cascading down her flawless flesh.I feel the heat of her wet skin as I put my hands all over her.Cupping the weight of her tits.Spreading my palms on her firm belly.Gripping her ass as I pull her into the front of my body, slipping my hand between her hot thighs and sliding a finger into her wet pussy.

Knowing what her soft lips feel like under mine.

And how fucking good it is to lift her up, open her legs as I lean her against the wall, and bury my dick deep inside her.Every inch.

I reach for the controls, needing the water colder.Nope.It doesn’t get any colder.I’m already maxing out the ice storm setting.

But it’s not working.Nothing’s working.

I rest my palms against the cold marble tile of my shower and hang my head between my arms.Freezing water strikes the back of my head and neck.My back, my ass, and the back of my legs.

Seriously?What’s the deal with me right now?What’s my reasoning here?The only woman I ever loved kicked my ass to the gravel, and I’ve suddenly decided that I’m destined to get my groove back with Boots, the Squatter of Washoe Ridge?

I laugh at myself and raise my face toward the shower head, hoping one last time that the bone-chilling downpour can beat some sense into me.My teeth chatter.My skin pebbles.My flesh shudders.

And still… she’s not going anywhere.I’m still thinking of her, seeing her in my mind’s eye.The beautiful mystery woman can’t be washed away, frozen out, or deleted with reason.

She’s here to stay.

So, what am I going to do about it?

CHAPTER 10

Frankie

I wake up and turn on the lantern that MacLaine left for me.I can see my breath as I exhale.Keeping the new-to-me soft blanket wrapped tight around me, I roll off the battered couch and throw kindling and a log into the fireplace and it ignites quickly.

“The rancher’s magic wood,” I say out loud and then laugh at the double entendre.Oh, Ibethe’s got magic wood.A guy like that probably has magic everything, from the thick blond hair on top of his head to the massive muscles I could see bulging beneath the flannel shirt and denim jacket.

I rub my hands in front of the fire and lean into the heat.The sleeves of the sweater MacLaine gave me keep falling down, so I roll them almost to my elbows.The sweater is a buttery cream color, so big on me that it fits more like a dress than a top.

But holy shit.I saw the tag.It’s Vicuña wool from Peru, the most expensive luxury wool in the world.I only know this because Niko’s talked about it.But I’ve never actually felt it on my skin.

Until now.And it feels intensely sensual.Softer than silk.

I pull the sweater’s neckline up to my nose and inhale.Somehow, I’m sure this belongs to the hot rancher himself, but in another odd twist, the knit carries a subtle hint of very expensive men’s cologne.Bulgari, if I’m not mistaken.

How does a rancher afford Vicuña wool and Bulgari cologne?Who is this guy?

Worry washes over me.Maybe he really does own the land and wasn’t bullshitting me in the least.And maybe my customer handed me a worthless piece of paper wrapped in some kind of misunderstanding.I don’t think Karl would lie to me.Not knowingly, anyway.

Am I being naïve?Ha.I haven’t been naïve for years.Many,manyyears.