Page 20 of Resisting Isaac

Funny, I was just thinking those same words about him.

“Maybe I do love them.”

He winks. “Makes two of us.”

I’m sprawled across him and I know there’s a mess to clean up but the traveling and the late hour and the vigorous sex are all catching up with me.

“I should shower again,” I say, not meaning a word of it because my bones have turned to Jell-O.

He rubs my back gently and my eyes close. “Rest for a bit, spitfire. You can shower in the morning.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

isaac

Bang bang bang.

The sound is gunfire ricocheting in my skull.

I jerk upright, heart pounding, hand instinctively reaching for the nonexistent sidearm I left back at the ranch. But it’s not there because I’m not at the ranch.

I look around and see that I’m in a hotel room.

And someone’s damn near taking the door off its hinges.

“Housekeeping!”

I blink. The bed’s empty. Sheets are a mess. The scent of her and sex still clings to the air like perfume.

“Spitfire?” I rasp. My mouth is dry as hell.

The bathroom door’s wide open. Lights off. No steam. No sound of water running.

Just a note on the nightstand when I reach for the bottle of water she must’ve left for me.

Not even a note, really. A napkin from The Wild Coyote with five words scribbled in what might be makeup:

Thanks for the ride, cowboy.

It is lipstick. I know because she kissed the napkin at the bottom edge.

Another knock. “Housekeeping!”

Son of a bitch.

I swing my legs off the bed and scrub a hand over my face. Every muscle aches, but in a good way. I find my boxer briefs discarded across the room and yank them on, then throw on yesterday’s jeans and pull my shirt over my head, half-tucking it in as I open the door.

The reins are nowhere to be seen. Looks like my spitfire took a souvenir.

The housekeeper’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me.

“You’re all set,” I mutter, handing her a twenty-dollar bill because it’s all I have on me, and I know those sheets are a mess. Brushing past her, I tuck the room key into the back pocket of my jeans along with my five-word goodbye.

Looks like I’m taking a souvenir too. I’ve never been one for sentimental trinkets. But I’ve never called a woman “baby” before either.

Or given her everything I had while she demanded more. I can still hear her sultry voice in my head teasing and taunting me.

I’d pay every cent I ever earned just to watch her come one more time.