Page 37 of Top Secret Cowboy


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“Confident, you mean.”

“You’re wearing a shirt out of a lost and found.”

“I can take it off.”

Her eyes seemed to dilate as she stared at the line of buttons running down his chest. Then she started back to listing reasons why he was wrong for her.

Which he was. Why was he trying to argue when he was crossing lines he swore he never would?

Hemingway gave another loud meow and swished around his boots.

Bronte looked down at the cat and then whipped around. She stomped across the kitchen, her shoes flapping on the hardwood. Then she made even more noise by banging a cupboard door. When the clatter of dry cat food hit a dish, Hemingway abandoned Jace’s ankles and shot after Bronte.

Jace didn’t know whether to curse the cat for interrupting them or thank him for stopping him before he really lost his mind.

Either way, he and Bronte needed to talk. He followed her to the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table and waved at it. “Sit down.”

She threw him an exasperated glance before slip-slapping her way back to the cupboard. Of course, she had to slam the door shut.

“We need to talk,” he said.

She faced him. “You need to stop bossing me around. And I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Bronte-with-no-snake-eyes-over-the-E, please sit down.” He hoped the “please” would have the same effect it would on his momma.

She rolled her eyes. “Snake eyes? That’s new.”

He pointed to the chair and then took the other one. She didn’t sit, only gripped the back, keeping the wood chair as a barrier between them.

He wasn’t going to get what he needed from her, which was total trust and cooperation, until he fixed the issue at hand.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” he said.

Her fingers tightened on the wood. “I kissedyou.”

“But I’m not your type.”

“No. Not usually, anyway.”

“Well, you’re not mine either.”

Her eyes narrowed into an almond shape. If she knew how crazy that look made him, she would never do it again.

She gave her shoulders a haughty twitch. “What is your type? I suppose it’s cute and blonde like Kimmy—”

“No. I like smart girls.”

“Well, I’m smart.”

He gave her a single nod.

“So why aren’t I your type?”

“You make too much noise.”

She blinked at him, clearly thrown for a loop. “Noise? What kind of noise?”

“You bang cupboard doors.”

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