Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1) by Tracy Wolff, Katie Graykowski Page A

After all, this was the man she had spent the last twelve years despising. The man who had cracked her heart wide open with a few careless words. She needed to remember that, remember what it felt like to be broken like that. Otherwise she was going to have another whole host of problems—problems that began and ended with the fact that even after everything that had passed between them, Heath Montgomery still made her heart go pitter-pat.
    Which was ridiculous. Bizarre. Absolutely suicidal. Yes, he’d been totally charming from the second he lowered that paper on the airplane and realized the duct-taped idiot sitting next to him was her. Yes, he’d protected her from his crazed fans. Yes, he’d chewed her out of that damn dress. And yes, he’d even managed to secure this damn car, despite the run on rentals the Austin airport had experienced while they were dealing with her dress, and was now driving hundreds of miles out of his way to make sure she got home to her father safely.
    But that wasn’t enough.
    She couldn’t let it be enough, no matter how much her Southern manners were grating on her conscience. She wasn’t a masochist after all—duct-tape dresses notwithstanding—nor was she an idiot. Lowering her guard with Heath, letting him charm his way back into her good graces, would make her both. After all, the Deuce was known for his ability to maneuver even the most stalwart virgin out of her panties in less than five minutes. Since she wasn’t wearing any, it would take him no time flat. He’d never met a pair of breasts he didn’t like or a heart he couldn’t break. And after her latest love-life debacle with Rob the Knob, Lyric just didn’t have it in her to take the chance.
    She quite simply didn’t have anything left to give.
    Another arrow of pain licked through her, and once again she shoved it right back down where it had come from. She had enough to worry about right now without taking on anything extra, and Heath was definitely extra. He was like the gift-with-purchase lipstick at the Lancome counter—not what she’d originally gone in for, not even a color she’d wanted, yet somehow it fast became her favorite shade.
    Willing time to go faster—willing this drive to go faster—Lyric rested her forehead against the passenger-side window and stared out into the bleak grayness of the storm. With all of its driving rain, flashes of lightning, and tree-bending winds, it was a perfect reflection of her mood and the temper tantrum part of her really wanted to throw.
    “Are you cold?” Heath asked after a few minutes, talking loudly to be heard over the chorus of “Cherry Cherry.” He nodded toward the backseat. “I might have a sweatshirt in my bag, if you want to cover your legs with it.”
    “I’m okay.”
    “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind. You can have whatever—“
    “I’m fine, Heath. Don’t worry about it.”
    “Okaaaaay,” he said after several long seconds of silence. “Do you want to call your mom? Or Harmony? Check on your dad’s condition?”
    “I really don’t.”
    Now she could feel the weight of his stare even with her head turned in the opposite direction. She didn’t want to justify herself to him, but— “If my daddy’s dead, I don’t want to know about it … not yet.”
    No matter how cowardly-lion it made her, she just couldn’t face it. Not now and not over the phone. If she didn’t talk to her family, there was still hope. And right now, hope was all she was living on. She rubbed her temples. Well, hope and the violent need to find Neil Diamond and stab him in his “cherry cherries” for writing this damn song.
    Heath’s big, warm hand settled on her knee. Sparks, hot and completely inappropriate, shot up her leg at the contact. What kind of pervert was she to be experiencing sparks when her father was so sick? It took every ounce of self-control she had not to shove his hand off her knee. Or bang her head into the glass window it rested