Free The Right Side of Mr Wrong by Jane Linfoot Page A

ever after. It would do her good to have the taste of a one-night stand, to be pleasured to excess – his own speciality, and the passing thought send him rock hard – then left. And he was happy to oblige, to teach her that lesson.
    ‘You can forget about wedding rings!’ He roared the words across at her, but the engine’s howl devoured them as soon as he spoke them.
    He saw her mouthing at him, shaking her head. She obviously hadn’t heard then.
    Except the noise of the engine was dying now, and the car was dragging, slowing, dawdling.
    ‘What did you say?’
    The engine finally spluttered into silence, and the car rolled to a jerking halt.
    He spluttered himself, but his was a rising splutter, not a dying one. ‘Great! Now we’re out of eff-ing petrol! I hope you like walking!’
    She turned to him, her eyes wide.
    ‘Was that in the plan?’
    She had to be joking? It wasn’t planning which had landed them here. Just him driving like a crazy guy in response to her blasted ring. He kicked himself for forgetting that this car did zero miles to the gallon when thrashed, kicked himself again for being in the goddam countryside in the first place. No petrol stations for miles. No mobile signal.
    ‘Well some of us have obviously been putting in overtime with the planning!’ His brow came crashing down and he glowered at her accusingly.
    ‘Excuse me?’
    Her tiny query didn’t temper his anger. He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a growl.
    ‘Let’s get this clear once and for all! There’s no place for wedding rings here! If you’re looking for Mr Right, you’re hitting on the wrong guy.’
    * * *
    ‘Keep up!’
    Brando barely looked behind him as he barked the words at her, for what had to be the nineteenth time since they’d set off on their cross-country hike back to Edgerton.
    Shea blew heavily, and pushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead, as she stumbled over yet another grassy tussock. He’d set off at top speed before she’d even had a chance to do up her coat. She’d been running after his broad back for four fields now, and her lungs and legs were burning. She slowed to a walk, trying to get her breath back, caught her hands in her coat pockets and pulled it around her now. Thank sugar she was doing this in wellingtons and not high heels. Ahead of her she could see Brando had already reached the next fence, and was leaning on it nonchalantly, scratching his head.
    Looking disgustingly attractive.
    She kicked herself for that thought. He was one screwed-up guy. Knotted with tension and with the temper of a two year old. The look on his face when he saw the wedding ring, and she’d tried to cover it with a joke! And what a traitress that made her feel. She didn’t do men, and she didn’t do attraction. Brando was out of the question on every level.
    But he did have some crazy male magnetism thing going on. He played havoc with her pulse rate even when he wasn’t kissing her, and when he did – well, best not to go there! As it was she was struggling to keep her hands off him. Thank sherbet he was an arrogant bone-head. If he had been in any way a decent guy, she’d have been in huge trouble, regardless of her abstinence policy.
    Too much testosterone for his own good. And hers.
    Her stomach flipped as his lazy growl grazed her.
    ‘Some time today would be nice … ’
    Listen to him! Arrogant and condescending didn’t begin to cover it.
    He levered himself off the rail, and shot her an unexpected sideways grin, which sent prickles skittering down her spine.
    Dizzied by hormones? Guilty as charged.
    At least he had waited for her. Without warning he sprang into the air, and landed on the other side of the fence.
    ‘Nice vault! You could almost have been teleporting there!’
    She needed to keep her confident, in control act intact, however much she might be falling apart inside. She began to clamber over the fence herself, and as she twisted and swung her leg over the top rail