Free A Cowboy's Charm by Brandi Michaels

wolf-whistle and some catcalls followed her progress.
    Rylan and his opponent stopped playing long enough to see who was creating the stir. As soon as his gaze met hers the warmth Callie had felt turned to liquid heat. For a brief instant his eyes lit with unguarded emotion. They greeted her with enough welcome to make her legs go weak.
    “Hey, Callie! Come join us,” urged one bold cowboy. He and another man she vaguely recognized were sitting at a table near the pool room. She recognized a couple of the ranch hands too. They called out and she raised a hand in greeting but didn’t stop until she was in front of Rylan.
    “Lost?” he asked, his gaze roaming her face in a slow, thorough caress.
    “Not now,” she whispered softly.
    “Here by yourself?”
    “Brad dropped me off on his way to town.”
    “Checking up on me?”
    “What if I am?”
    “It depends,” he replied. His expression grew shuttered. He took a long drink of his beer and then studied the label before lowering his voice in a seductive warning. “I’m feeling pretty restless tonight, Menger. Maybe even reckless. It might not be too safe to hang around with me.”
    Her heart thudded heavily with his warning. “What if I’m feeling a little restless and reckless too?” she managed through a tight throat.
    A spark flared to life in his eyes but was swiftly doused. “Just lookin’ for a good time?”
    “Just lookin’ for you,” she insisted as she returned his unwavering stare.
    For a long moment they continued to stare into each other’s eyes, isolated in the midst of a crowd and aware of nothing besides the need for a more tangible connection.
    “Hey, Rylan, your turn to break.”
    The fragile link was broken and Callie glanced at the cowboy who’d jerked them back to the present. She’d seen him around but didn’t know him. He was one of the Mastersons’ neighbors.
    “We’ve got a contest going,” Rylan explained. “I’ve gotta play the winner of that last round. Want a drink or something to eat while I play?”
    “I’ll order something,” Callie told him. She took a step back and slid onto a barstool while he approached the table again.
    They were playing eight ball and Rylan broke the balls. She ordered a rum and cola with some hot nachos then watched as he moved around the pool table. She never got tired of watching him and it was a pleasure to do so without monitoring herself.
    Such a nice, tight rear end, she mused as he bent over the table. She loved the way his jeans hugged his hips and thighs. Loved his long, strong legs. Loved the play of every firm muscle in his back, arms and shoulders. There wasn’t much about him she didn’t love.
    Cal Watkins, an old friend, called to her from one of the other pool tables, telling her he could use some luck. She just smiled and shook her head. Another man tried to coax her to dance but she politely refused. Her gaze didn’t stray far from Rylan.
    A few minutes later he missed an important shot that cost him the game. His opponent jeered. “Game’s a little off tonight, isn’t it, Masterson? Get stepped on by a bull or something?”
    Callie didn’t hear Rylan’s response. She saw his hand go to his chest and a rush of guilt washed over her. He was obviously stiff and sore. Who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? She was frowning when he walked back to the bar. He quickly dropped his hand but she was off the stool and in front of him immediately. She splayed one of her hands on his chest.
    “Are you hurting?” she asked anxiously. “I knew you should have gone to the emergency room.”
    Their gazes connected again and the dark turbulence in his eyes caused the air to whoosh out of her lungs. She didn’t trust herself to interpret the sensual message he was sending. She wanted him to want her so badly that she was afraid to hope.
    “Nothing that a little TLC couldn’t cure,” he replied in a low, husky tone. He put one of his hands over hers and held it tight to his