him to open the door and get on with serving the eats. He ruffled the dog’s ears affectionately, patted his back, and pulled open the door.
Cameron Dix stood on the other side, her red hair wild and beautiful, her pink lips wide open, as he’d clearly caught her in the act of doing something she didn’t want to be caught doing at his back door.
Prince was going to get a treat later for alerting him to his early, early morning visitor. This woman wanted him, she wanted him bad, and now all the pretense of distance could be swept away.
Not that she was going to get what she’d come for—but let the record note that she’d ventured onto his turf.
“What’s up, Cameron?”
She hid something behind her back. “Not much.”
Ah, wasn’t she cute. She thought she was going to get away with whatever her plan was. First thing she needed to learn in Hell was that she was no Mayor Judy Jasper when it came to effective manipulation—and he was no Trace Carter to be worked like an easy mark. “Something’s up. Unless you make a habit of hanging out at my back door.”
Her chin went up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
She definitely had something behind her back. There was only one way to solve this standoff, show her he was nobody’s fool. Saint jerked her toward him, a mistake he rued when a cloud of strawberry-scented red hair swirled around his face and sweet, round breasts bounced into his chest. Lust swept him like a heavenly river dragging him down.
Oh, shit. She’s got me now.
So delicate, yet lean and tight from all the riding she did. Cameron met him at almost eye level, which put him too close to her wide-eyed expression and moist, sweet lips.
He had to avoid those lips.
Just reach around her, find out what she’s holding behind her back. You know you’re getting set up for something. Puncture Judy’s plan so she knows just who she’s messing with—no way in hell is she going to spring the trap shut on you the way she did your buddy Trace.
He kissed her, closing his eyes so he could absorb the impact of her soft mouth. Oh God, it was good, better than his dreams all those tortured nights in Afghanistan when he’d fantasized about the arms of a loving woman to save himself from the insanity of the war. He instantly returned to a rock-hard condition, only this time it was incurable—he had to have this woman. Possess every sexy inch of her.
He felt Cameron’s mouth give under his, realized she hadn’t pulled away—though she wasn’t exactly trying to eat him up, either—but he couldn’t have relinquished the sweetness he’d hungered for so long if his life depended upon it.
Bed. He had to get her into bed. Wasn’t that why she was really here? Wasn’t that why Mayor Judy had brought her so-called team of bullfighting riders here to Hell—to find unlucky, unsuspecting victims to drag to the altar?
Saint didn’t release her. “Let’s continue this discussion inside, beautiful.”
Cameron’s eyes widened. She didn’t look impressed with his invitation. She kneed him in the groin and Saint doubled over, gasping for air as his eyes watered against the pain.
She tossed something at him, stomped off. He thought she’d called him something harsh but his ears had bells ringing in them the size of ships. Staggering into the den, he collapsed on the sofa, groaning. The woman had aim, and she was strong. She was also nearly as tall as he, and she was athletic as heck, all of which he had to grudgingly admire as the blackness began to recede. He glanced at the offering Prince brought over, the item Cameron had flung at him.
A twisted-wood basket of cupcakes, with a card that had the words Happy Birthday written on it, and signatures of his best friends in the town: Mayor Judy, Sheriff Steel Durant, Declan O’Rourke, Trace Carter; even Cameron Dix and Harper Castleberry had signed it, among others from the town.
Cupcakes. They’d sent cupcakes for his birthday, courtesy of the cupcake he really wanted. Prince went back to licking his ear, reminding him about breakfast and wanting to be rewarded for alerting him to his visitor, so Saint pulled himself painfully off the sofa, glanced at the pretty beribboned wood basket of now-smushed, chocolate-frosted cupcakes with tiny bulls atop them. Nice, no doubt delicious—but the one thing he really wanted had pulled out of his driveway, spewing dirt and tiny rocks