Page 39 of Top Secret Cowboy


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When she was listing reasons why he wasn’t her type, she forgot all about her no-beards rule. She preferred her men more clean-cut.

As if he heard her thoughts, he raised his knuckles to his jaw and rubbed them thoughtfully over the bristle. The light rasping sound shouldn’t cause her insides to heat like that. What was he doing to her?

A scowl crossed his face at whatever he saw on his phone, and her stomach took a deep dive just like when he told her what that letter said.

She should read it. It was addressed to her, after all. But part of her shied away from even touching the thing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Hemingway slinking toward Jace. She’d seen that behavior before—right before he pounced on a toy or one of her hair ties, which he loved playing with.

Her attention shifted from Jace, who was still glaring at his phone screen, to her cat.

Hemingway leaped—right into Jace’s lap.

Landing straight on his nuts.

“Oof!” He crumpled forward and slapped a hand over his privates. Hemingway refused to leave Jace’s lap and stretched out on his blocky, muscular thighs.

Bronte stifled a giggle. When Jace swung his stare to her, she crushed a hand over her mouth to stop the amusement from bursting out. Just like in the bathroom, she felt hot and cold shivers. She was sitting here with the guy protecting her from someone who wanted to throw her body off a bridge while finding complete amusement in her cat jumping on Jace’s balls.

He set his phone aside and started stroking Hemingway’s back. “You put him up to that.”

She laughed. “Do you know cats at all? They don’t take commands from humans, let alone this cat.”

Hemingway’s loud, happy purr reached Bronte from several feet away. She watched Jace’s long fingers work down the cat over and over again, wishing it was her body he was touching.

“Did you order food?”

“Yep.” He returned to his phone, and she twisted on the sofa to get into a more comfortable position. She stretched her legs out and cuddled the pillow instead of her cat, who had forgotten she existed now that he had Jace.

Suddenly, he dumped the cat on the floor, earning a grumpy yowl, and strode to the door. Panic swept over Bronte, and she jumped off the couch at the same time Jace stood.

Whatever he saw on her face made his soften. He took a step toward her and did that arm-rubbing thing again.

What the heck? It was starting to actually calm her down.

“The delivery guy’s in the lobby.”

She nodded.

He looked at her harder. “You’re really jittery, and I’m not helping things.”

“It’s hard not to be jumpy with all that’s going on. Get the food, but try not to shoot anybody.”

His lips quirked upward at her joke, then he moved to the door. She locked it after him before returning to the couch to cuddle her pillow while Hemingway sat staring at the closed door.

“Your new master will be back in a minute,” she said with sarcasm, but not even being snarky with her cat distracted her from the threat hanging over her.

When Jace returned, he let himself in and locked up the fortress, a takeout bag hooked in his fingers.

She watched him. “So when does the portcullis get installed?”

He didn’t miss a beat when he answered, “Tomorrow morning. They had to finish up the metalwork.”

She sat up straight on the sofa. “You actually know what a portcullis is?”

Staring at her as if she’d grown an extra head while he stepped out, he said, “The gate in the entrance of a castle.”

“I didn’t realize your education was so well-rounded.”

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