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  STORM’S INTERLUDE

  A Rosefire, Texas Romance

  Vonnie Davis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Original Copyright © 2011 by Vonnie Davis

  Reissue Copyright © 2016 by Vonnie Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Smashwords eBook Edition

  ISBN: 9781370027378

  Cover & Formatting designed by Kelly Moran

  Photo courtesy of DepositPhoto

  Published in the United States of America

  Check out these other titles from Davis:

  Santa Wore Leathers

  Her Survivor

  Hers to Heal

  A Highlander's Obsession

  A Highlander's Passion

  Bearing It All

  How to Seduce a Fireman

  For the Love of a Fireman

  Pin-Up Fireman

  Storm’s Interlude was the winner of the HOLT Medallion Award of Merit and nominated for

  Book of the Year at Long and Short Reviews.

  Dedication

  To cowboy romance lovers everywhere who love the code these men live by, their swagger, and the women who ride rein over their hearts. I mean, surely I can’t be the only one who loves these swoon-worthy, muscle-hardened men.

  Chapter One

  Someone swaggered out of the moonlit night toward Rachel Dennison. Exhausted from a long day of driving, she braked and blinked. Either she was hallucinating or her sugar levels had plummeted. Maybe that accounted for the male mirage, albeit a very magnificent male mirage, trekking toward her. She peered once more into the hot July night at the image illuminated by her headlights and the full moon. Sure enough, there he was, cresting the hill on foot—a naked man wearing nothing but a tan cowboy hat, a pair of boots and a go-to-hell sneer.

  Well, well, things really did grow bigger in Texas. The man quickly covered his privates with his Stetson. Rachel sighed. The extraordinary show was evidently over. Should she stand in her Beetle convertible and applaud? Give a couple of catcalls? Wolf whistles? Maybe not.

  She turned down the music on the car’s CD player. Sounds of crickets and a lonely bullfrog in the distance created a nighttime symphony in the stillness of this isolated stretch of country road. Lightning bugs darted back and forth, blinking a display of neon-yellow glow.

  The naked man strode toward her car, and Rachel’s heart rate kicked into double-time. Common sense told her to step on the gas, yet what woman wanted to drive away from such a riveting sight? Still, life had taught her to be careful. She reached into her handbag and extracted her chrome revolver. Before he reached her car, she quickly slid her gun under the folds of her skirt.

  Just let him try anything funny—I know how to take care of myself.

  Both of his large hands clasped his hat to his groin. His face bore annoyance and a touch of chagrin. “I need a ride.” By his bearing and commanding tone of voice, she guessed the man was used to giving orders and having them followed.

  Her gaze took a slow journey across his face. Even in the moonlight, she could see traces of Native heritage. His shoulder-length ebony hair, too long for her tastes, glistened against his bronzed skin. Proud arrogant eyes sparked with aggravation.

  Because Rachel believed in indulging herself, she allowed her gaze to travel over his broad shoulders, muscular chest and tight abdominal muscles. She saw a thin trail of dark hair starting below his navel, and, knowing full well where it ended, she fought back a groan. Her gaze slid back up to lock on his. “You need a pair of pants, too.” Knowing her voice hummed with desire, she cleared her throat, hoping the naked man hadn’t noticed.

  He leaned his head back and studied the sky for a beat. “Just my freakin’ luck! A few friends tried to get my mind off a long overdue break-up.” He snorted. “Hell, guys don’t do that. They were just hunting for an excuse to get drunk and steal my clothes in what they thought of as a joke.” He scowled at her. “Now, to top the evening off, I’m being ogled by some horny kid with damnable blue eyes.”

  What the heck was wrong with her eyes? She quickly glanced in her rearview mirror and saw nothing amiss. She narrowed those “damnable blue eyes” and sneered. “Look, buster, I’m not the one prancing around Texas naked as a jaybird. I’ll have you know I’m hardly a kid.” She glanced at the tan cowboy hat. “And, furthermore, stop hiding behind that big ol’ Stetson. From what I saw, a French beret would do the job.”

  There, let the arrogant fool stew on that while he strutted back to whatever rock he’d crawled out from. She slammed her car in gear and sped off.

  She swore she wouldn’t look in her rearview mirror. Nope, she would not look. As if the mirror were a magnet emitting a powerful homing signal, her gaze slowly slid to the glass surface. He was standing where she’d left him, his Stetson tilted back on his head, his hands fisted on his narrow naked hips and his mouth moving. He was no doubt cussing her out.

  A smile blossomed; a French beret would never hide all that. Wait until she e-mailed Grace, her best friend. She’d never believe her story of a naked man on a narrow, deserted road in the hill country of Texas.

  Rachel exhaled a long sigh and accepted the inevitable. She couldn’t very well abandon him, the caring part of her insisted. Nurse Rachel to the rescue...again. She mentally shrugged at the conflict of emotions. It was nearing ten o’clock. Where would he get help? Where would she get help if he attacked her? Men couldn’t exactly be trusted. Hadn’t she learned that?

  She made a wide U-turn, her revolver still safely tucked under her skirt. When she stopped next to the naked stranger, a tanned hand emerged from the darkness and grasped her arm. Fear sprinted up her spine. Her right hand instinctively slid under the pink and purple plaid skirt of her sundress to touch the cold, hard steel of her gun.

  The man was hiding his impressive family jewels behind his hat again. “Look, I apologize for the kid remark. I’m much obliged you’ve come back. My appearance being what it is, I understand your reluctance to give me a ride. Do you have a cell phone I could use?”

  His voice was like black satin—deep, silky and darkly sensual. For a second, fantasies danced across her mind, spinning and leaping to some wild, soundless passionate beat. An involuntary shudder went through her.

  Dark eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on her arm a fraction. “Do you or don’t you have a cell?”

  The size of the man was intimidating enough, but when he aimed those midnight eyes at her, his power nearly doubled. Showing fear wasn’t an option. Not anymore. She’d learned displaying weakness made one vulnerable. “Yes, I have a cell. First, would you kindly let go of my arm?” She smiled, trying to hide her anxiety. Her tongue licked her lower lip, a nervous habit, and she saw a change in his eyes.

  Her breathing increased. What if he meant to harm her? She tightened her hold on her revolver, releasing its safety. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d held a man off with a gun. Relief flooded her system when she felt his grip loosen.

  With a feather-light touch, he trailed his fingers down her arm, leaving a track of heat as if blazing red flames propelled from his fingertips. All her female parts softened and trembled, except for her nipples which gave their typical hardening response. His gaze spoke of sexual awareness and prowess, sweeping over her face as if he were gauging her reaction to his touch. His nostrils flared and, tha
t quickly, his eyes shuttered and he pulled back.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. Her nerve endings were humming a slow, sultry song. Get a grip, Rachel. She let go of the revolver and tugged her cell phone from a side pocket of her purse. Silently she handed it to him, then slid her trembling hand under her skirt again to touch the security of her gun. The man was too compelling for his own good, and most certainly for hers.

  The stranger thumbed in a number and placed the phone to his ear. “Jackson, you miserable som’bitch. Get your smartass out here and bring me my clothes! Stop that damned laughing. You’ll find me along the road. I’ll be the nude pissed-off man with smoke blowing out his nostrils.” He swiped the phone and extended it to her.

  “You never told him where you were.”

  “He knows.” The man fairly vibrated with annoyance.

  She lifted an eyebrow in question and waited.

  “Jackson, me and two of our old high-school football buddies went to the swimming hole we used as kids.” He looked up at the sky and scanned it. “Ever notice how a full moon brings out the idiot in most people?”

  “There are studies to that effect, yes.” God, he was gorgeous. Bet he’d be even better looking with a haircut.

  “Had some beers. Passed a couple whiskey bottles around. Got the bright idea to skinny-dip like we did back in the day when we were full of piss and vinegar. I dove in and before I knew it, Jackson and the guys had run off with my clothes. All they left me was my hat and boots.” He glanced at the starlit sky again. “I’m gonna kill ’em all.”

  She smiled. He evidently had some crazy friends.

  A siren wailed in the distance, growing steadily closer. “Guess I should move my car out of the middle of the road.”

  “No need.” He lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s just Jackson, the venerable police chief of Rosefire, Texas.” Sarcasm tinged his voice.

  “Your friend, the one who stole your clothes, is the chief of police?”

  He nodded, and then his attention shifted to the back of her car. “You a gardener? See you got plants on your backseat.”

  “They’re herbs. Healing herbs for a new friend who’s sick.”

  She thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes. His hand slowly moved across her shoulder to her braid, sending shivers down her spine.

  “You’ve got mighty long hair. Guess braiding it keeps it out of your eyes while you’re driving with the top down.” There was a quick smile, white teeth flashed and dimples winked.

  Rachel swallowed. Dimples. He just had to have dimples. If she didn’t soon get away from this man with his muscles, his deep voice and those prominent dimples, she’d be nothing but a puddle of femininity on the front seat of her new car.

  He raised the braid, looping it around his fingers before letting it fall. “Bet all that blonde hair is glorious when it’s loose.”

  She blinked twice. Just how was she supposed to react to that remark?

  “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got full, sensuous lips that make a man wonder? I’ve seen those same blue eyes before, too. Been driving me crazy, in fact.” What the heck was he talking about? He curved his large hand around her neck. The rough calluses on his hand and fingers sent shivers up and down her spine. Her eyes connected with his and her mind took a momentary joyride on one of those adjustable mattresses—she’d have to set it to firm. Her gaze dropped to his lips. Oh, yeah, most definitely firm. She imagined sex with him would be wild and passionate.

  His voice deepened as he groaned, “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to live the rest of my life wondering...” Ever so slowly, he leaned toward her. Dear God, was he going to kiss her? Her heart rate jumped into triple-time, and a flock of crazed bumblebees dive-bombed in her stomach. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to kiss her—and irresponsible or not, she was definitely going to let him.

  His dark, powerful gaze slid from her mouth to her eyes. “If you say no, I’ll stop.” Her tongue slipped out and wet her lower lip. He evidently took it for the welcome it was and captured her lips.

  Firestorm—his kiss, gentle nips at first, quickly turned potent and fierce. He tasted of spice, whiskey and beer. There was a faint scent of lime-based cologne mingled with the dank smells of creek water. Her toes curled in her pink sandals. Oh God, she was in big trouble. Thank goodness she’d taken her hand off her gun or she’d have shot her car dead.

  Heat flooded into every cell of her being as his lips and tongue gave and took. Begged and commanded. Whispered and roared of more male potency than she’d ever experienced. He groaned and pulled back just a tad, his eyes heavily hooded with desire. “Like I said, that was a mistake. Madness of the full moon.” With his Stetson still firmly held in place, he kissed her gently on the forehead and stepped away from the car into the darkness.

  She fought the urge to beg for more. Her body was whimpering for completion. She detested her response, appalled she was aching for a stranger. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t knowing Kyle taught her anything?

  The siren was increasing in volume as it grew closer, a wailing backdrop for her warring emotions. She was so engrossed in her thoughts, she jumped when the stranger’s voice caressed her senses in the darkness. “No need in staying. Leave, kid. You can take that gun or knife you’ve been hiding under your skirt and put it back where it belongs. I’m not going to attack you.”

  “How...how did you know?” Rachel removed the pistol from its hiding place but decided against putting it away just yet. After all, this man was dangerous on so many levels.

  His sensual voice stroked her again. “Put some aloe on your sunburn tonight. Your skin’s hot.” He slapped at something. “Damn mosquitoes.”

  The police cruiser crested the hill, the same hill the stranger had appeared on minutes earlier—a lifetime ago.

  Chapter Two

  Storm Blackhawk was not a happy man. What he was at that exact moment was mosquito bait—a six-foot-two mass of sexually aroused, naked, mosquito bait. He looked up at the full moon, swatted at a mosquito buzzing around his ear and snarled. Like most males, being impassioned without a willing female had put him in a seething mood. The additional indignity of being nude along the road, eaten alive by gnats, mosquitoes and chiggers, only fueled his temper.

  He glared at Jackson Cole slumped on the ground, leaning against the side of the police cruiser. The drunken man, chief of police no less, had fallen out of the cruiser laughing at the sight of him standing there, wearing nothing but a pair of hand-tooled cowboy boots and his tan Stetson. For two cents and a cheap cigar, he’d kick Jackson. An audible sigh of disgust escaped. Why bother? He’d still be in a pissy-assed mood.

  What was supposed to be a carefree night of booze and “remember when’s” to ease Storm’s confused emotions after breaking his engagement to a spoiled, sexy rich woman went sour in a hurry. Maybe it was just too soon. He’d dated her exclusively for over two years and, damn him to hell, he still cared for her, spoiled and demanding, or not. Hell, deep emotions didn’t stop on a dime.

  Jackson had called two of their old football buddies, who were still single, and bought the required cases of chilled beer and a few fifths of Jack Daniels. The night went from teasing to a major episode of embarrassment.

  Storm’s first dose of painful humiliation had been walking the road naked in hopes of reaching home before anyone saw him. The experience was akin to one of those disturbing dreams where you suddenly found yourself in a familiar place naked, like at a barbeque or a rodeo. Of course, he hadn’t been able to sneak home undetected. She’d showed up in that little excuse of a car, baby blues beckoning, full lips beguiling.

  Granted, he should have hidden behind some bushes when he heard the sound of her approaching car, but he’d been so provoked by that point, he didn’t give a good damn whose headlights illuminated his naked state. He’d mustered what dignity he still retained and kept on clomping along.

  Had he k
nown the driver would be an intriguing paradox of wide-eyed innocence and sexual-fantasy lips, he’d have hidden all right—hidden for his own safety. What in God’s name had possessed him to kiss her?

  He swatted at gnats flying around his face. One could place part of the blame on the dream he’d had for the past three nights. Since his dad’s death, several years ago, Storm had inherited his Native-American father’s capacity for vision dreams—short, vivid ones where he saw into the future. Little flashes of forthcoming light, his dad had called them. For the last three nights, he’d dreamed of large blue eyes and a deep, sultry laugh almost like a siren’s song calling his name.

  The dreams were unsettling. So when those baby blues, the ones that haunted him in his dreams, gazed up at him from that sweet face, he kissed her just to see what would happen. He’d been foolish enough to think one taste of her would banish the dreams forever, banish them and leave him in peace. He swore softly. The woman was trouble with a curvy figure and lips made for kissing. He groaned at the memory, his mood darkening even more.

  Jackson made some inane remark and giggled. Storm was in no state of mind for his best friend’s taunting laughter. He yanked Jackson from the dirt and shook him. “Look, you drunk, simple-assed, poor excuse for a friend, give me my damn clothes.”

  Jackson laughed that hyena laugh that told of too many beers.

  “You’re not fit to be out on the highway, you damn fool. You’re drunk!”

  “So? You’re bare-assed naked.” Jackson’s smile slipped and his face sobered. “And Sunny’s gonna die. Our Sunny.” He exhaled a moan of pain as if it came from the depths of his soul. “My Sunny.”

  Storm released Jackson and shoved him out of the way. “I’m not talking about this with you. Not in the mood, man. Give me my clothes.” He slapped his bare backside. “Mosquitoes are eating me alive.” He reached into the backseat of the cruiser for his clothes Jackson had evidently thrown into a pile.