Free A Risky Affair by Maureen Smith

sucker-punched him in the gut. “I’ll try to remember that, Mr. Roarke.”
    â€œDane.”
    â€œHmmm?”
    â€œCall me Dane,” he told her. “Mr. Roarke is my father, who doesn’t tolerate being called anything else.”
    Solange gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. “All right…Dane.”
    â€œMuch better.” He picked up both suitcases as if they were weightless, showing off just a little for her benefit. “Shall we go?”
    In no time at all, he and Solange had carried everything down to the parking lot and began loading up her car. Although it was old and rust-stained, the interior of the Plymouth was as tidy as the hotel room she had just vacated. No loose change, discarded paper cups or fast food wrappers on the floor to speak of. Dane didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.
    Before he could decide, he was distracted by the warmth of her body as she hovered behind him, watching as he arranged one of the cardboard boxes on the backseat.
    â€œDoes it fit?” she asked anxiously. “Can you get it in there?”
    It was too much to expect his mind not to head straight for the gutter, not with her seductive heat seeping into his bones. He cleared his throat. “It should be fine,” he managed thickly.
    â€œAre you sure?” She pressed closer, the soft, enticing fullness of her breasts grazing his back. Dane closed his eyes as a fresh wave of arousal swept through him, making him grow instantly hard.
    He must have grunted or made some other inarticulate sound. “Let me help you,” she offered.
    He was beyond help. “It’ll fit, don’t worry.” His voice was a low, rough growl he hardly recognized as his own.
    Misreading the reason for his tone, Solange backed away. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t handle it on your own. It’s just that I packed the car myself before leaving Haskell, so I have a pretty good idea how and where everything should go.”
    Dane had a few ideas of his own that had nothing whatsoever to do with maneuvering boxes around the backseat of her car. In fact, right now he could think of far better uses for the backseat in question.
    â€œWhy don’t you go check out while I take care of this?” he suggested. “It’s almost twelve.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll be right back.”
    Her absence bought him time to load everything into the Plymouth and, more to the point, get his raging libido under control. When she returned from the lobby a few minutes later, he stood holding the car door open for her.
    Solange beamed a smile at him that made him feel absurdly heroic. “Thanks so much for all your help, Dane,” she said warmly.
    â€œNo problem.”
    As she slid behind the wheel of the car, he closed the door and took a step backward, already thinking ahead to the cold shower that awaited him when he got home later—if he could hold out that long. Never before had another woman wreaked such havoc on his senses, making him feel as horny and restless as an adolescent boy. And yet, Dane wanted nothing more than to prolong his time with her. He knew once she drove out of that parking lot, there was a very good chance he would never see her again. With her tucked away in Crandall Thorne’s remote, secluded ranch, buried deep in the Hill Country, Dane wouldn’t be able to just drop by unannounced, claiming he was “in the neighborhood.” And even if he tried, Thorne would probably have him tossed out on his ear, the irascible old bastard.
    Solange rolled down the window to look at him. Wisps of dark hair had escaped from her ponytail to frame her exquisite face. “Well, I guess I’d better hit the road,” she said, and he wondered if he’d only imagined the trace of reluctance in her voice. Was it possible she shared