“I don’t care what your name is.”
Instead of letting go, he stepped closer.
Too close.
She could smell him now—aftershave and whiskey and something stale underneath it, something that made her want to lean away. It was the smell of a man who never got his hands dirty, a heavy, oily scent that crowded out the hay and the horses.
“You know,” he said softly, “you’ve got every man in this county looking at you.”
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t.”
His hand slid down her arm to her wrist.
Then lower.
Fingers brushing the side of her waist.
Clara’s stomach turned.
She stepped back fast, but there was a stall wall behind her.
Nowhere to go.
“Stop.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I absolutely do.”
One side of his mouth tipped up.
The look on his face sent a cold ripple through her.
Because he didn’t think she meant it.
He thought because he was older and richer and used to being obeyed, she would smile eventually and let him do whatever he wanted.
“Sam Talley can’t give you much,” Wade said, stepping closer again. “You ought to think bigger than some horse farmer.”
“Move.”
“You could have a whole lot more.”
“I said move.”
He braced one hand against the wall beside her head.
The other landed at her hip.
Not gentle.
Possessive.
His fingers spread over her like he was already claiming something.
Panic and fury surged together.
