She sputtered, “Really, that’s not necessary. I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a total twat and bugger off with everything the moment my back is turned.”
Spoiled brat was too nice a term. Clearly, she was high maintenance and needed a lesson in manners—one he would be more than happy to give her. A nice spanking leaving her with a red ass would do it. Her insinuating he was a common criminal pissed him off. “Maverick Greyson; I work for Silver Springs Ranch. And I say my help is warranted, darlin’. The last thing we need is you hurting yourself over stubborn pride because you couldn’t accept a helping hand. Now, go on up in the cabin and I’ll get these in for you. That way, you won’t break a nail or something.”
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, and looked like she wanted to stomp her foot in rage but was holding herself back. Then she opened her mouth to counter him.
Holding up a hand, he cast her an intimidating glare—the same one he used on disobedient subs—and halted the protest before it left her lips. “Don’t argue with me, princess. Just do it. This will go a lot faster if you swallow your pride and do as I say.”
If anything, her stare turned downright frigid, and she regarded him as if he were something to be scraped off a boot. Her stance was almost regal as she coldly addressed him. “I appreciate the assistance, given there are no bellhops available on the ranch.”
“Seeing as how most people don’t pack for an army for a simple vacation in a cabin, bellhops aren’t needed,” he needled her, and a red blush infused her cheeks.
Her eyes flashed with fury, but she kept her mouth shut. Her response made him want to egg her on just a little bit more; see if he could get a rise out of her. Would her skin flush that way during sex, when she was seconds from climaxing?
Mav was fascinated as she struggled for control and managed to keep her face impassive—except for those goddess eyes. Those blared her emotions.
Jesus, what would they look like with lust clouding them?
With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her heel, strode around the side of the vehicle to the side door, and yanked it open. She fumbled with another suitcase and lifted it out of the back seat. The confounded woman glared with haughty disdain over her small victory, then marched toward the front porch stairs, rolling the tan leather suitcase behind her.
While she struggled hefting the bag up the stairs, Mav just shook his head, bent down, and removed the two large suitcases from the trunk. He grunted, surprised at how heavy they were—not for him, given the scope of his work, but how she thought she could lift them. She had to be a buck twenty dripping wet, and that was only on account of her impressive chest.
He glanced at the luggage tags on the expensive set of bags for a name.
Bianca Peabody out of London, England. That’s where the accent came from, and also explained why she had a cultured tone to her crisp alto.
He carted the first set up. His boots clomped on the dark walnut wooden stairs and across the front porch. He left the first two bags just inside the open front door, and then headed back down for the rest.
Seriously, how many damn bags did the woman need for a vacation? Mav had never seen so many, and they affirmed his spoiled brat theory.
He’d have to check registration; find out how long she had the cabin booked for. Mav carted the rest of her belongings in. It didn’t take him long. He made sure to close the car doors and trunk before heading in with the last load.
Inside the front door, he assessed her again. “This is the last of it.”
She walked over with her wallet in her hand and pulled some cash out. She seemed uneasy with him in her space. She held the cash out toward him and said, “For your troubles. I might have gone overboard with my packing.”
He held up a hand. “Not necessary.”
“Please take it. You went out of your way and didn’t have to. I’ve been traveling for almost twenty-four hours, and appreciate the help.”
Up close, Mav studied her more carefully, and noticed the dark smudges beneath her goddess eyes—eyes that were full of strain and worry. Lust curled in his abdomen—and, startlingly enough, fingers of concern. The Dom in him wanted to wipe away the strain and replace it with pleasure. The man had a feeling that, if he extended his hand, it would be slapped away.
He retreated, taking a step back. “Welcome to Silver Springs Ranch. Be sure to lock the door behind me. I’d rather not have to worry that you were eaten by a mountain lion or got into a brawl with a bear. It’d be bad press for the ranch.” He tipped his hat and strode to the door.
She straightened and glanced around like the animals were already inside the cabin. “They wouldn’t really come inside, would they?”
“If they’re hungry enough or someone antagonizes them, they will, especially if the door isn’t locked. And I’m certain in your case, princess, they’d make an exception.” He flashed her a grin and wink, then strode out the door without a backward glance.
She was a rather fascinating mix of bluster and fragility—and set his teeth on edge with her condescending disregard.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle her or kiss her—possibly both.
But her high-falutin’ attitude was enough to make him want to swear off the female species. Because the one thing he was certain of, was that Bianca Peabody would exasperate the dead.
2
Well, that had been a rather epic cock up.
Nice one, really.
Floundering and uncertain, Bianca gaped after the rough cowboy had left, her gaze fixed on the spot where he had stood inside the cabin moments ago.
She was vastly conflicted over the stubborn man.
She hadn’t meant to gripe at him. Normally she wasn’t that snippy. But her patience had worn thin over twenty-four hours of traveling. Her flight from DC to Denver had been delayed, which had shoved back her departure time from Denver. She probably should have just booked a room in Denver and got a good night’s sleep before making the drive—on the wrong side of the bloody road and the wrong side of the sodding car.
But she had pushed through, needing as much distance as possible from her mother and the dreaded state of her future.
Which was why, when the cowboy had come upon her as she had been struggling with the suitcases, frazzled, starving, craving a shower and to go horizontal for twelve solid hours, she had been unable to manage her responses better. Well, that, and because he was a sensual, rugged, handsome manly man who had made every erogenous zone in her body stand up and take notice.
She couldn’t be blamed for her actions. The combination had short circuited her control and burned the remaining shreds of her patience. Really, in her defense, when she’d noticed the big black truck parking in front of her cabin like it meant business, her only thought had been: what now?
And then the deep, masculine rumble of his voice had asked, “Can I give you a hand with those, ma’am?”
Bianca had swiveled her head in the direction of the voice and been struck dumb.
It had taken all her remaining strength to keep her mouth from falling open with a sigh as she stared at the tall cowboy.
Power radiated off him as he approached. Every inch of him, from his cowboy hat to his boots, blared that this was a man. Not the limp-dicked wimps at the latest charity function or high tea. This man dominated the space he was in. His kinetic energy rolled over her in a lightning strike, and sparked desire in every corner of her body.