SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH me. Certifiable.

Gemma had dismissed her best friend instead of the infuriating Colombian she could barely stand. That certainly warranted a pink slip to the loony bin. The guilt deepened further from the hurt in Shane’s eyes as he stomped off to his truck and drove off with his father.

But the jerk asked for it.

She egged Butterscotch on, building up to a gallop. With the oncoming twilight, she didn’t want to risk the horse tripping on something she couldn’t see. But she needed to get out of the stifling house. Escape the apology coming from Reyna, the sympathetic stares from Rico, and mostly the curiosity from Miguel. She’d do anything to escape the embarrassment, and worse, the nightmare of her past.

The crickets buzzed all around her as Butterscotch thumped through the grass. Further and further to her only real refuge.

Where had that kiss come from?

There was nothing between her and Shane, or so Gemma had thought all these years. It was a relief, really. Knowing she had a real friend with no ulterior motives or desires. He was just Shane.

But that ridiculous hair—she didn’t even know he owned a bottle of mousse, or gel, or whatever the hell that was. Like he was trying to impress the competition, instead of her. The Shane she knew should’ve known she wouldn’t be impressed with crap like that. When he kissed her, she was too shocked to punch him. She’d shoved him away when Reyna called her. Thank God for that. Otherwise Gemma would’ve clocked the pushy meat locker. Or died of embarrassment with Miguel standing there.

Honestly, she didn’t trust herself around the tanned high-n’-mighty. He irritated the hell out of her and they’d already fought. Multiple times. But it was the only defense she knew against the heat building inside whenever she saw him. Or thought about him. Even her dreams the last few nights had betrayed her, the star of each one the same dark-eyed playboy from whom she couldn’t escape. In her imagination, his expert moves with every caress, every breath, every suckling had left her wet, aching, and wanton each morning since. She’d finally released a smidgeon of tension in the shower, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Which is why when Shane had kissed her in front of the one who invaded her lustful thoughts, she couldn’t contain the heat that had crawled into her face.

Finally, she rounded the hill and reached the pond. The water glittered in the last rays of sunlight. Ripples broke the surface where minnows ate the speckles they thought were food. She dismounted and guided Butterscotch over to the pecan tree, its leaves rustling in the breeze in a calming symphony of evening.

The horse munched on nearby grass as Gemma tied the reins to the rope and stripped off the blanket from the sack she’d packed. She’d considered sleeping out here after the debacle at dinner and mortification with Shane.

She laid the patchwork blanket on the grass by the bank and collapsed on top of it. The first few stars blinked into life above her, and she let her muscles slowly uncoil. Twilight coolness was a gift from God in these parts of Texas. If someone caught a rare current of air this time of year, they were lucky. And Gemma was lucky tonight.

After an entire evening of painful reminders.

An entire lifetime, actually.

One of which she’d never have to relive around Reyna. The gracious woman wouldn’t force her to, since she already knew everything. Well, most everything. And Rico was the smart kind of kid who knew not to ask. It was okay just to be.

But Miguel didn’t know her history. Rock’s inebriated slandering was certainly enough to warrant curious stares and no doubt an oncoming inquisition from the one who made her mouth water.

Miguel.

Only here in her place of peace would she admit to herself if he wanted another kiss from her, she’d give it to him. More than that. She’d let him reinvigorate a part of her she’d kept dormant. Only upon his arrival did her dreams reawaken that part of her. The part she’d shoved deep into the cracked earth because it now caused shame and resentment. And a need to shower and scrub the filth left behind.

But there was nothing filthy about Miguel. He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Shane, yet everything about his mass was toned. Not the kind who could throw knockout punches, but could certainly take one without too much damage. Shane’s bulky form was more of a turn off than the result he hoped for. He flaunted his muscles any chance he could, which was more irritating than flattering.

But Miguel was showy in a different way. His speech, for one. Incredibly formal, especially for a simple Colombian kid. But then his air, the way he walked, even the way he ate his dinner was more…educated. Like he knew his way around a fancy dinner party, saying all the right things to his host and doing everything with impeccable manners. Only Miguel could make stepping in horseshit graceful. Everything about him was impeccable.

Except the way he looked at her. Nothing polished or impeccable about his gaze. More like raw lust. An erotic feast of eyes that made her insides tingle. That her body remembered when she slept.

A slow thunder vibrated beneath her, and she lifted her head in time to see Sniper round the hill. With Miguel in the saddle.

While her chest leapt for joy, her brain cringed and cursed the feminine hormones ruling her body. The man rode a horse like a Roman God, pulling night’s curtain behind him. The only thing Sniper was missing was a pair of wings to lift them into the sky.

“Knew I’d find you here.” Miguel reined Sniper by the tree. He climbed down and pulled something from his waistband and put it in the saddlebag. His hair was windblown and energy radiated off his perfectly tanned skin. She could relate to that exhilarated feeling during a ride.

Only when he reached the edge of the blanket and raised an eyebrow did she realize she was staring.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked with his sultry accent.

Damn his manners. Gemma nodded once.

When he relaxed beside her, stretching out his legs and leaning back on one elbow, the blanket shrank dramatically. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she refused to acknowledge a building pressure between her legs.

He steals the very air around me. Can’t I at least have a blanket without sharing?

“How long were you going to hide out here from me?” he asked softly.

Hide from what, exactly? This ridiculous conversation or the hungry stare you give me?

“I planned on sleeping out here.”

The crickets buzzed around them, and Gemma picked up a pebble. Flipping it over in her hand, she skitted it across the pond and watched as a few fish nibbled at the surface in search of food.

“You’re embarrassed,” he concluded and chucked his own rock across the ripples.

I’m that readable?

“Cock fighting is illegal in Texas,” she bit out. “That pathetic display of masculinity between you and Shane didn’t impress me.”

Miguel scoffed. “Toolbox will be disappointed to hear that. That was his only motivator.”

Toolbox? Interesting nickname, and fitting.

“What was your motivation, Miguel?

Everything went still around him. Even the breeze in the trees stopped. “You.”

Gemma’s mouth went dry, and she fumbled with the edge of the blanket. He’d loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt was open, revealing a hint of his tan chest. A light gloss from the Texas heat reaching his manly scent.

God if he’d just stop looking at me like that. I can’t get into this mess again.

“What are you so embarrassed about? That Toolbox kissed you for the first time in front of me, or that you didn’t want him?” He spoke with his whole body laid out before her, casual, confident, and his assumptions undeniably accurate.

“Both.” Hiding her tiny gasps for air, she refused to look at him. Not when she felt this vulnerable. First Rock’s despicable conversation and then Shane’s unwelcome advance, now those coffee eyes…

“I could tell you weren’t impressed.” Miguel reached for her hand fiddling with the blanket, and curled his fingers around hers. Her heart skidded out of rhythm. He didn’t even behave like he was jealous. Which would’ve been the only positive thing from Shane’s attempt at romance. Invoking a reaction from the exotic dream.

“How could you tell?” Her voice sounded small and meek.

“Several little clues.” His fingers slowly traced along her thumb, sending tingles everywhere. “But one dead giveaway.” The musky cologne he wore, mixed with his spicy scent, replaced her oxygen supply. His warmth infiltrated her senses. The warm, gentle grasp on her wrist made a sweat break on the back of her neck.

“When he kissed you,” his voice lowered, barely a murmur. “You looked at me.”

I did?

Every move was assuring and controlled as his body turned and shifted to match her eye level. His strong chest took up her entire view. The only clue to his rattled demeanor was the quickened pulse in his neck as he continued to caress her arms, now gliding up to her elbows.

“If you’re completely into someone, when they kiss you, you can’t look anywhere else.”

Gemma bit her lip and watched the trail of goose bumps his fingertips left along her skin. Her arm looked small against his strong and capable fingers. The light touch, calming and hypnotic against her skin, lulled away the defensive layers she’d erected since he arrived.

“And afterwards, you can’t look away.”

Gemma braved staring into his face.

Big mistake. That unfairly handsome face dissolved every instinct she had to run. Or punch. His espresso eyes had darkened, clouded with passion, desire, whatever name she could call it. His breath had shortened, almost shallow against her forehead. Just as he’d described, she couldn’t look away.

She was completely into him.

Glacially slow, his mouth lowered inch by inch while his hand tightened on her arm, urging her closer. Just before their lips connected, he paused and stared down into her eyes. Waiting for consent, a sigh, a blink, anything. When she didn’t look away, he smiled and their lips merged.

The kiss wasn’t a possession or claim, but a dance against skin. A soft rumba, less urgent than the one they’d shared before. His smile had vanished when he cupped her neck, like holding a jewel in his palms. Her heart hammered, realizing in his arms she felt treasured. For once, she was not a bargaining chip.

Through her half-dazed eyes, his skin glistened in the amber sky as she traced her finger along his cheek. His mouth slanted against hers and their tongues collided. The sweet and sultry taste of him filtered through her. When she moaned, low and deep, he eased her back on the blanket. His weight wasn’t crushing, but secure against her body. And addictive.

His thigh pressed between her legs, strong and steady. Her core throbbed against it. Twining her fingers in his hair, she rocked against him and let the fluttering in her body congregate low in her belly. Tasting every corner of his mouth, like foraging a mysterious jungle, sent her head in a twirling fog. The deepest kiss of her life sparked her very soul back into life.

From the bulge growing between Miguel’s legs, his fire matched her own.

A warm ache settled in her stomach, and she let the heat build and expand between her thighs. Gripping the soft hair at the back of his neck, she pulled him in, loving the forbidden taste of him and the feel of his body as it molded to hers.

It was better than in her dreams. Better than her sultry shower fantasies. The throbbing heat from his groin pushed against her hips and made her lungs squeeze. He’d ignited a raw passion inside her that she never thought she’d dare release again.

He cupped her neck, caressing her cheek with his thumb as his lips slanted over hers, savoring her taste. Her mind whirled. Kisses like this existed only in the movies. The only things missing were the swelling orchestra and crash of waves across their legs.

Their lips separated and they fought to catch their breaths. His Kahlua eyes gazed down into hers, as if enraptured by a comet racing across the sky.

“Mi Dios, ayudame,” he rasped. “I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.”

Her heart skipped for several beats, feeling his pulse race under her fingers.

God help me, too. He wants me. I do that to him.

Another voice in her head broke through the haze. You barely know him.

He covered her mouth again, and captured her tongue with his. More of his weight shifted on top of her, and a low growl rumbled through him. She wrapped a leg around his calf, feeling the burn deep in her groin.

God yes, I want this.

Stop it, Gemma. You know where this leads. You’ve been down this road before, and know where it leads.

Gemma groaned, which Miguel mistook for passion and cupped one of her aching breasts through her shirt.

Please? Just once. This could be different.

But the other voice refused to be ignored. That other life wouldn’t let her forget. The loneliness, the hatred. The inevitable shame.

She shook her head and forced his tongue out of her mouth. “Stop.”

“Que?” he panted.

“You don’t even know me,” she gasped.

She forced him back as she sat up, her heart nearly cracking at the desperate, dumbstruck look on his face. But the cooler air on her face eased the dizziness.

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

True. She forced herself to calm her heart. “As bad as I want you right now, I’m not doing this. Because I don’t know you, either.”

Miguel panted and readjusted his pants, the bulge at the junction of his legs more strained than before. “You’re right.”

“What?” No way in hell did this guy just agree with me.

Miguel brushed her hair back, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “You’re right.” Desire tinged his voice and his cheeks were still flushed, but he leaned back on his elbow. With a final pull, he yanked the tie from his collar and undid another shirt button. The sliver of skin widened, just as tan as the rest of him. And just as hot. He licked his lips. Those damn, luscious lips.

“Tell me why you love this pond so much.”

Gemma would have laughed if she weren’t out of breath. “Because it’s peaceful. I can think here.”

“Do you smile here?”

The odd question threw her. But his gaze was genuine, curious, and refreshingly honest. Not pushy or demanding, like much of their previous interactions.

“I gather other than when shooting your guns, you don’t smile much, let alone laugh.” His words made her think. She’d never thought about that before, but his assumptions were right. Her life hadn’t given her much to laugh about.

“Tell me about your family, Gemma.”

The lust-induced fog slowly evaporated. She’d kept that part of her life locked away, desperate to escape the reminders. But she had to be honest with herself. With him. Miguel looked at her like she was a diamond in his hand. Could she really be safe here in his arms, and let herself go? Would she be judged or pitied for living a life of disaster, only to make worse decisions? Could she give Miguel the key to that box of locked-up fuck-ups?

Stefano had alluded to Miguel’s share of hardships. Everything in that irresistible face above hers told her she could trust him. If she could face the pain.