Free A Risky Affair by Maureen Smith Page B

happened with her car that morning, Solange felt a sense of peace wash over her.
    She turned her head to study Dane Roarke beneath her lashes. She was struck once again by how handsome he was, how powerfully male. He wore a black T-shirt, dark jeans that clung to the strong, corded muscles of his thighs, and a pair of black Timberland boots that looked enormous. She’d been utterly shocked to open her door that morning and find him standing there, especially since she’d spent the past two days trying—unsuccessfully—not to think about him. She had no intention of becoming involved with him. She was on a mission to get her life back on track, to save enough money to realize her dream of attending law school. Romance did not factor into her plans, and a man like Dane Roarke would prove to be way too much of a distraction. Beneath his dark good looks, sinfully sexy smile and raw animal magnetism beat the heart of a dangerous man, the kind Eleanor Washington had always warned her about. Dane would never have to go out of his way to hurt any woman. He’d break her heart in the time-honored way preferred by most gorgeous, charming men: by simply being unattainable.
    Solange had no wish to become one of his hapless victims. God knows she’d had more than enough of unavailable men. Yet she hadn’t put up too much of a fight when Dane had insisted on driving her to the ranch. Against her better judgment, she’d wanted to spend more time with him, to explore the heat and attraction that had sizzled between them from the moment they met. She blamed it on hormones. It had been a while since she’d had sex.
    â€œHow do you know so much about cars?” she blurted, shoving aside the unwelcome reminder of her prolonged sexual drought. “The mechanic who arrived with the tow truck agreed with your assessment about the engine.”
    Dane sent her a crooked smile. “You sound surprised.”
    â€œI guess I am, a little,” Solange admitted. “Not too many men nowadays know about cars and things like that. At the first sign of trouble, they run to the nearest dealership for help.” She made a face. “Most guys I know haven’t the faintest idea how to change the oil, let alone how to diagnose a bad engine.”
    Dane chuckled softly. “Maybe you don’t know the right men, Solange,” he said, sliding her a heavy-lidded look that made her pulse quicken. It was the first time he’d spoken her name, and hopefully it wouldn’t be the last. The way he said it in that deep, intoxicating voice of his made it sound like the sexiest, most exotic name in the world.
    He was right. She didn’t know the right men. She’d definitely never encountered one like him before.
    â€œIs that important to you?” Dane asked idly. “Being with a man who knows about cars?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Solange frowned, giving the matter careful consideration. “I’m not saying he has to know the latest advances in fuel injection systems, but if we’re out on a date and we get a flat, he should at least be able to change the tire without requiring my assistance—especially if I’m wearing an expensive dress and three-inch heels.”
    Dane threw back his head and roared with laughter. The deep, rumbling sound was so pleasant, so downright infectious, that Solange found herself joining him. And it felt good, really good. She hadn’t had much to laugh about since her parents died. It didn’t occur to her to question why it felt so natural to rediscover her sense of humor with Dane Roarke, a virtual stranger.
    When their laughter finally subsided, Dane looked over at her and shook his head, dark eyes glittering with mirth. “Not exactly a feminist, are you, Miss Washington?”
    She grinned unabashedly. “Hey, I’m as independent as the next gal, but I make no apologies for having certain basic requirements of the men