Tangled With A Texan. Yvonne Lindsay
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Cord, did you want these on your tab or—” the waitress started.
“I’ll take care of them,” Zoe said, flicking some bills from her pocket and dropping them onto the woman’s tray. “Keep the change.”
The waitress looked from Cord to Zoe and back again, Obviously she wasn’t used to Cord’s dates picking up the tab. She left as Cord picked up a beer, poured it into Zoe’s glass and did the same for himself.
“You’re quick,” Cord said with a quirk of his lips. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“I pay my way.”
“Gender equality and all that?”
“You drove, I bought the first round. Gender equality has nothing to do with it.” She arched a brow at him as he chuckled softly. “Are you deliberately trying to irritate me? Because if so, you’ll find I’m hard to put off.”
“I’m definitely not trying to put you off.”
He smiled again, the movement of his lips sending a sucker punch to her gut. How did he manage to have such a strong effect on her? This was crazy. She’d been out with plenty of men, had relationships with a few, but she’d never felt this intense, visceral response before. It made her feel vulnerable, as if she were cast slightly adrift, and she didn’t like it one bit. Determined to maintain the upper hand, she took charge of the conversation.
“So, how long have you lived around Royal?” she asked.
“Ah, the inquisition continues,” he drawled. He sat back in his chair, hooking one arm over the back, and gazed at her through narrowed eyes.
“Inquisition?”
“Yeah, it’s what you do, isn’t it? Grill people?”
“Like dressed in black leather with torture implements and stuff like that?”
His lips quirked again, sending a spiral of sensation curling through her lower body. Oh, that mouth. How would it feel against hers? How would he taste?
“I could see you in that getup.”
She snorted a laugh. “In your dreams, buster. So, back to my question. How long have you lived here?”
His nostrils flared on an indrawn breath. “Am I wet off the back of the truck, do you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. He was needling her, twisting her words to sound like a veiled insult. That might be the angle some of her colleagues would have taken, given there was no mistaking Galicia’s Mexican heritage. But she was not that kind of person. In fact, none of her family was.
“Look, I asked you a simple question. You’re being deliberately evasive again.” She lifted her glass and took a long sip of her beer, relishing the bite of hoppy flavor as it rolled over her tongue and down her throat. “I’m not sure what you call conversation in this neck of Texas, but where I come from, when we meet a person, we chat, ask questions. Y’know, get to know one another.”
He nodded slowly. “We have similar customs here.”
She fought back a laugh. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. Maybe it’d help if I went first? I’m Houston born and raised. Youngest of five. Third-generation cop. Your turn.”
“Royal born and raised. Only child. My grandparents came here, bought land, ranched it, expanded the ranch. My father took over, did more of the same.”
She nodded. “And you? Still expanding?”
He shrugged. “Not in land, more in better ways to use it.”
She sat back in her chair and felt herself relax as he began to open up and discuss a little of how he planned to diversify his business operations. She let his voice roll over her, enjoying the timbre and the slow, measured way in which he spoke. She gestured to the waitress for two more beers.
“Let me get those,” he said.
“If you insist,” she acceded.
Once the drinks were on their table, she decided to turn the conversation back to her investigation.
“So, you and Jesse Stevens. You guys grew up together?”
“Yeah. And he’s not the man you’re looking for.”
Ha, so much for softening him up and then pouncing with a question, Zoe admitted to herself with a measure of reluctance. Cord Galicia may have relaxed with her, but it didn’t mean his mind wasn’t as alert as a fox’s.
“Why are you protecting him?”
“Protecting him?” Cord laughed. “Nope, I’m just saving you time.”
“You realize I have to question him.”
“Why? Is my word not good enough?” Galicia challenged her.
She saw the latent anger that simmered beneath the surface. Was it because she wanted to question his friend, or because she was impugning his honor by not accepting his word?
“I’m sure your word is just fine.” She sighed. “But that’s not how we conduct an investigation.”
Silence stretched between them, and for a moment Zoe thought the evening was over. She felt a pang of regret. If she’d met this man under any other circumstances, then maybe they could have explored this simmering attraction that burned between them. She watched Galicia’s face carefully, but he gave nothing away. Eventually, he leaned forward and put his hand out.
“How about a truce, then?” he suggested.
“A truce? I didn’t know we were at war.”
“Oh, we’re at something, but I’m not quite sure what it is yet. How about, while we find out, we agree that you won’t ask me anything about Jesse and then I won’t need to stonewall you?”
She hesitated a moment before taking his hand. If she did this, she was opening herself up for a whole lot of trouble. She could feel it in her gut. But then again, what was life if it meant not taking risks? She reached out her hand and felt a surge of awareness the moment their palms touched. He felt it, too; she could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling now; in fact, he looked serious—serious about her.
Her inner muscles clenched on a wave of pure lust. Right now, she wanted to do nothing more than lean across their table, sweep their drinks aside and reach for him, then drag his face to hers and plant her lips on his mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that would hopefully assuage some of this crazy pent-up tension he manifested in her.
Instead, she jerked her hand free and reached for her beer, downing half of it. When she looked back at Galicia, amusement reflected back at her in his gaze and she knew, in that instant, he was dangerous. Maybe not in the criminal sense of the word, but certainly in terms of her equilibrium.
She was a long, tall streak of trouble. He knew that as surely as he knew the head count of his herd. But he couldn’t leave her alone. Even now, after that stupid handshake, he wanted to touch her again—and not just her hand. He wanted to see if those pert breasts he could see pushing against the fabric of her shirt would fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He wanted to trace the cord of her throat with his lips and his tongue, to taste her and inhale the very essence of her.
Damn, but she did things to him that twisted his gut in knots without even trying. Which meant he had to be doubly careful. He was breaking every single one of his own rules by taking her out tonight. Still, it wasn’t as if he was going to marry her or anything dumb like that, he told himself. He was distracting her. Keeping her away from Jesse. She had no business with his friend, and the sooner she realized that and returned to Houston, the sooner he could get back to his normal life. Thank goodness things were a little quieter on the ranch right now. The calves had been dried out and had regained condition. His pastures were under control