The Bluff (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

This book is dedicated to all the readers who read these dedications. I SEE YOU. And I really like you.

Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul. The current bane of my existence. And as of today at nine a.m., my employee.

Winnie says nothing, and I continue pretending she isn’t there, even as every cell in my body seems to have swung her way like tiny, malfunctioning satellites. Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.

My attraction to her is a reflex, one I plan to eradicate. So far, it’s like trying to stop myself from sneezing.

You’re the living embodiment of a fictional bad boy, ready to steal hearts and make ovaries explode.”

But real boyfriends suck. See: Dale. Whereas fictional ones never let me down. They come complete with a grand gesture and an HEA every dang time.

“You assume I have a sense of humor.” Winnie smirks. “I think there’s one buried under there somewhere.” “Don’t think you can try to excavate it. Or try to find some soft and gooey center. It doesn’t exist.” “Or maybe it’s buried so deep you don’t even know it’s still there.” “I’m not burying anything.” “Oh, James,” Winnie says, her voice deceptively soft. “We’re all hiding something.”

“I’m sure she could handle you on her own. But that doesn’t mean she should have to. Leave.” If I liked the way James stepped in to physically protect me, I love his verbal defense even more. I have a theory. It’s that every woman has two fantasies—one where she’s rescued by a dashing hero, and one where she doesn’t need a hero at all and rescues herself.

In a move that will forever be etched into my fantasies, James grabs Daniel, and like he’s no heavier than a throw pillow, tosses him into the pool. James turns away, totally dismissive, and holds out a hand to me. When I don’t immediately respond, a low, rumbling sound comes out of him, rattling my chest like a tiny echo. I’m a lot of things—awed, angry, confused, irritated, and absolutely turned on. But I slide my hand into James’s larger one, and he pulls me to my feet with a gentle strength totally unlike what he just used to throw Daniel into the pool.

When I’m sure she’s asleep, I lean closer in the darkness, whispering a truth I’m not ready to admit in the light of day. “I knew one kiss would never be enough. Not when it comes to you.” I’ll worry about what, exactly, this means later.

Now he’s trying to get me on a motorcycle, all pressed up close with my arms wrapped around him? I don’t think so. Not happening. I don’t care what the books say. That’s the way babies are made.