Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,13

the choice that raises the stakes. "I'm not the one at fault." He drew a finger down her nose and tapped the tip. "I need your insurance, sweetheart." Sure enough, he could practically see the steam pouring from her ears.

Her eyes burned like two black coals. "Oh like hell you do. You hit me."

"Says who?"

"Says me. And what makes you think Weston's going to believe you? I'm the one who lives here."

"Oh really?" He walked around to her demolished back end. "Plates say Illinois."

"Well I do... now," she added, almost sheepishly.

"So do I." He might have dragged out the words a little too long. Just to see how she reacted next. He wasn't disappointed.

CiCi scowled and stepped forward. "You're a damned liar. Your plates say California. And this... getup?" She waved her hands. "You're no cowboy. Real cowboys don't prance around in designer jeans and custom-tailored shirts. You look like you bought this getup on Rodeo Drive, not Anders' Feed 'n Seed."

She had a good eye, he'd give her that. Sterling might have raised an eyebrow at his choice of clothing when he first showed up, but he'd proven himself to be a hard worker, which is what mattered to those guys. "I think the only one prancing is you." His gaze slowly slid down her body, fully appreciating the way she filled out her very proper pencil skirt, before landing on her silver high-heeled sandals. Shoes like that belonged in Beverly Hills, not here in the sticks. "You're no cowgirl either, sweetheart-"

"Stop calling me that."

He grinned broadly. He'd bested her alright and damn, it had been fun. He lifted an eyebrow in challenge. "Make me."

Her eyes snapped and the air between them charged. Trace's nerve endings lit up in anticipation. She was either going to smack him or kiss him. He half-hoped it was the latter. Without meaning to, but unable to stop himself, he dropped his gaze to her mouth, mesmerized. Her lower lip was plump, perfect for nipping, and up close, it was the most beautiful shade of pink he'd ever seen. He shouldn't, couldn't, but damn, he wanted. He leaned in, unable to resist, barely registering her sharp intake of breath. Arousal curled through him, stirring low in his belly. A flash of pink tongue darting out to slick lips turned the fire in his veins up a notch while buzzing filled his ears to the point of dizziness. Jeezus he ached for the tiniest taste of this forbidden fruit.

Behind them a throat cleared. "Something I can help with?" Weston Tucker asked.

They both stepped back, startled. Shit. That had been a close call. What had he been thinking? Trace snuck a gaze her direction and bit back a smile as CiCi concentrated on the gravel while she quickly smoothed her skirt, cheeks bright pink.

"I hope so," she answered Weston brusquely, all business. "This... person here," she waved his direction. "Hit my car... there." She gestured toward her wreck of a car. "And now he won't turn over his insurance."

"That's not how it happened," Trace argued. "She hit me."

Weston stepped over to the vehicles, peered inside the shattered window, then walked around to the front of Trace's truck. "Can I have both your driver's licenses and insurance?" Trace had to hand it to Weston. The guy was unflappable, the perfect Chief of Police.

"Of course." CiCi reached into her vehicle, skirt tightening against a perfectly heart-shaped ass as a silver shoe left the ground for balance. For a split second Trace had a view of shapely legs disappearing into dark recesses. His cock chubbed up and Trace turned away, looking skyward. Anywhere but at her. It wouldn't help his case if he shamelessly ogled, and it would be ten times worse if Weston caught him like this. "But I don't know why you need mine," she answered, still straining to reach the glove box. "Like I said-"

"Standard procedure, CiCi. Nothing to be concerned about," Weston assured her with his hand outstretched.

Trace returned to his truck and dug around in his glovebox until he found his insurance, then handed both his license and the paper to Weston. Without an upward glance, Weston examined both sets of identification. "Walker, your license is expired."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me. You've been driving with a license that's three months out of date."

Behind him, CiCi snickered.

Weston pulled out a ticket pad and started writing. "I'm going to have to fine you. You'll need to go to the DMV tomorrow and get a new license."

He handed