Mason’s eyes dropped to the truck, steam still curling from under the hood. “That heap yours?”
I looked over my shoulder. “Don’t insult her. She’s doing her best.”
“She won’t make another hundred miles.”
I hated that he was probably right. “Good thing I’m stopping.”
He stepped closer and reached for the crate before I could object. His hand brushed mine. Hot. Rough. Solid. His calloused palm scraped lightly over my knuckles, and something stupid jumped through me, sharp and immediate.
Heat.
Annoying.
I let go too fast.
He took the crate like it weighed nothing, even with Bandit losing his mind inside it. “That cat hate everybody?”
“Mostly me.”
His eyes flicked to the scratch on my hand. “That’ll get infected.”
“I’m aware.”
He looked at me again, longer this time, and my skin felt too tight. There was something in his face—hard, closed-off, mean around the edges—but underneath it, tension. Restlessness. Like he carried a storm in his bones and resented everyone who noticed the weather.
Dangerous men always had that look, or maybe I had read too many studies on pattern recognition and trauma response. Either way, my body responded before my judgment could file a complaint.
Not attraction.
Recognition.
Chemistry was biological. That was all.
Regan grabbed my overnight bag. “Inside.”
He turned toward the house, carrying my homicidal cat like he’d been assigned the job and found complaining inefficient. I watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. Controlled. Heavy. Economical.
Savannah bumped my arm. “You’re staring.”
I looked away. “I’m assessing.”
She laughed. “Sure.”
I followed them toward the house, irritated at myself. Fresh start. New life. No men. That had been the deal. Less than twenty-four hours into New Mexico, I was following a broad-backed biker carrying my feral cat into an Airbnb while a group of women who may or may not have been a desert mafia adopted me against my will.
It wasn’t normal.
Neither was the heat still lingering on my hand where he had touched me.
Later, I sat by the fire with a drink in my hand while the women settled around me like this was something they had done a hundred times before. Logs stacked, lighter flicked, flames climbing high and hot, crackling into the desert night like they owned it. Music drifted faintly from inside, but out here it was fire, laughter, and open sky stretched wide above us.
Regan dropped into one of the low chairs, kicked her boots up, and accepted a drink without asking what it was. Amber followed, already halfway through a story I’d somehow missed the beginning of. Skye passed me a blanket like she’d known me longer than two hours. Tina started smoking Cubans.
“Gets cold fast out here.”
I wrapped it around my shoulders. “Thanks.”
Out past the firelight, two shadows lingered near the edge of the property. Mason was one of them. I knew that without wanting to know it. The other man was broader through thechest and stood with his hands loose at his sides, calm in a way that suggested calm was a choice, not a temperament.
