Free Hard to Handle by Lori Foster

“Shush and drink the coffee.”
    â€œI will not shush!”
    He glanced at her in a dismissive way. “Fine. Talk if it makes you feel better.”
    But she could tell he wouldn’t be listening. He was clearly making plans—plans that included her—and he didn’t intend to discuss it with her.
    â€œYou can’t be serious.”
    His brow went up. “About?”
    â€œAny of this.” Did she look like a child in need of his help? “For one thing, it’s too dark to see anything on my truck.”
    â€œI can see fine.”
    Deterring him wouldn’t be easy. “The snow will already be covering the truck, so trying to look at it would be pointless. Besides, I’d rather go to the police.”
    That got his attention. “Yeah? Do you have police here?”
    â€œWell…I guess. I mean, surely we do, right?” Stasia had never had need of law enforcement, so she couldn’t be sure. Spending only one season in an area, sometimes less, supplied her with the basics, but not all the ins and outs. “Doesn’t every town have at least a sheriff or something?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Hands on his hips, Harley paced away, then back again. “Something about this doesn’t sound right.”
    Stasia didn’t need his help, but she wanted his trust. “You don’t believe me?”
    His frown worse, Harley turned and planted one fist on the wall beside her head. He leaned in until his nose nearly touched hers. “Of course I believe you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re not the hysterical type to make up crazy stories.”
    She felt caged in, but his words reassured her, and did more to warm her than the coffee had. “That’s nice of you to say, but you don’t really know me.”
    â€œYeah, I do.” His gaze went to her mouth, but shot right back to her eyes. “Even before you told me about the other vehicle, I knew something else was going on.”
    â€œYou did?”
    He slowly nodded. “You’ve been plastered on me like a wet shirt, when usually you go out of your way to keep an emotional distance.”
    Stasia cleared her throat. “Being plastered to you would be a physical closeness. Not emotional.”
    The corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest of smiles. “Maybe, but tonight it was both.” His hand cupped the side of her head. “And just so you know, I wasn’t complaining. Not even close.”
    Because he was dead-on, Stasia didn’t debate it with him. “Okay, then…thank you.”
    Changing his stance, Harley situated himself so he could chafe her arms when she wasn’t sipping coffee, smooth her hair when she was. He pampered her, which she hadn’t expected and wasn’t sure she wanted, but enjoyed all the same.
    When she’d finished all the coffee, Harley stepped back and looked her over. His gaze lingered in key places, not that he could see much through her bulky layers. But the heat of his gaze made her wish he wasn’t leaving so soon.
    In only a few hours, he’d be gone—until next year.
    â€œYou know what, Harley?” she whispered. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”
    Eyes so light a blue should have looked icy. On Harley, they radiated the same warmth as the center of a flame. No wonder others, even sports commentators, had made note of the unsettling intensity of his gaze.
    â€œI have a million questions. But your clothes are wet in more places than they’re dry.” His voice was low and gruff and, in some way, seductive. “We need to get you out of them.”
    Anastasia froze, then forced a careless laugh. “And to think people told me you were smooth.”
    A smile shown in his eyes. “You know what I mean, honey.”
    Endearments? Now? She couldn’t fathom why a bright red nose and shivering limbs would encourage him to intimacy.