Free Road to Glory by Tessa Berkley Page A

quickened. A soft rush of air moved from his lungs as regions that had so long been ignored stirred to life. Her head turned toward him. Those sapphire eyes gazed up into his and showed no fear.
    Close up, she was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. Without thinking, Travis lifted his hand and pushed a streamer of gold behind her ear. “Just like silk,” he heard himself whisper aloud, and for good measure he grazed the edges of his knuckles down her cheek. His knees nearly gave way when she closed her eyes and leaned into the stroke of his hand. He was going to kiss her.
    Threading his hand along the back of her neck, he gave merely the hint of pressure and her head tipped up. Her eyes opened, and he could see the blue turn to velvet as she dampened her dry lips with the edge of her tongue. With a slow steady measure, he lowered his mouth toward hers, watching, waiting for any sign of protest. Just a whisper away and with nothing to stop him, Travis’ lips brushed hers.
    Soft, gentle, with only a moment of contact before he lifted his head and looked down. Her eyes were closed, her moist lips waiting, and he kissed her again. This time, his lips moved across hers, tasting, dancing at the newfound thrill, and when she sighed and placed a hand upon his chest to steady herself, Travis pulled her closer.
    Her head nestled in the crook of his arm while he filled himself with the taste of pure heaven. The tips of Glory’s fingers burned against his shirt, their heat sliding in to brand his skin. His heart raced onward, fast and faster. Using his tongue, he traced the line of her mouth, urging it to open, hoping he might explore the sweetness inside. But it was not to be.
    From beyond their embrace, the sound of someone’s displeasured clearing of a throat brought his fantasy to a halt. Travis opened one eye and caught sight of Mickey Davis standing in the doorway.
    “I brought your bag over,” he said.
    Travis caught the firm stamp of disapproval in his voice and the downturn of his lips. He took a deep and labored breath. Glory’s fingers curled in his shirt as she fought for footing against the weakness of her legs.
    “Afternoon, Mickey.” He kept his voice as even as possible, considering the range of emotions rolling through him. Travis didn’t look down as Glory pulled away from him and stepped inside the bedroom to gather her thoughts. Hoping to give her some time to get herself composed, he turned to engage Mickey in conversation. “Put it on the sofa, will ya?” he said and slowly began to move toward him.
    If looks could kill, Mickey had not only struck him senseless but dug the hole, laid him six feet under, and covered up his body so it wouldn’t be found. Travis stooped over the back of the sofa and wrapped his fingers around the straps. Lifting, he came face to face with Mickey’s irritated glance.
    “I sure hope you know what you’re doin’, cowboy.”
    Travis paused and shifted the bag in his hand. “I shared a kiss with a pretty girl, that’s all.”
    Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “You lay a hand on her, and your ass will be out on the street so fast your head will spin. Moreover, I’ll personally make that bull’s stompin’ look like a walk in the park. Comprende, amigo ?”
    Travis’ mouth grew grim. Hell, yeah, he got it. Hands off the owner of the Glory B. “Yeah,” he said. “I got it. Loud and clear.”
    They stood momentarily eye to eye, Mickey acting like a disgruntled father who’d caught him in the back of his pickup truck with his daughter. Without moving his gaze, Travis heard him call out, “Glory, I got the truck outside. How ’bout I take you over to Mitch’s to pick up Sultan?”
    Boots scuffed across the floor, and Travis turned toward the bedroom. Glory stood at the entrance, her head down. Looking at her toes, she walked by him, probably mortified at being caught.
    “Yeah, sure, that would be great,” she mumbled.
    Glory’s voice lacked heart. He wished