What The Rancher Wants.... Lucy Monroe

as he pulled her around to face him. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

      She looked at him as if he’d lost a few marbles. “I’m leaving. Now, let go of my arm.”

      “No. I’m not letting go of you and you aren’t leaving.” He leaned forward until his face was close enough to hers that their breath mingled. “Do I make myself clear?”

      She glared at him and said, “Yes,” between clenched teeth.

      He leaned back a little, but didn’t let go of her wrist. “We’re going to talk this out.”

      The stubborn woman shook her head at him. Didn’t she know that women were supposed to want to talk things out?

      “We have nothing to discuss. You want a convenient sex object for your housekeeper. Only you neglected to mention that as part of my job description. I’m wondering why though…you were quick enough to tell me your no marriage policy. I am not interested in being anyone’s temporary squeeze, so I’m leaving.”

      Sex object? Temporary squeeze? Putting a tight lid on his temper, he hooked one hand under her knees and the other behind her back. She screeched something about overbearing, insufferable cowboys, when he picked her up. He ignored her. The powder keg that was his temper was liable to go off if he paid attention.

      She kept up a litany of complaints all the way out of the kitchen, through the courtyard, and into his living room. She was shoving at his chest with her fists by the time he dropped her gently onto the couch.

      She shot right back up again and stood toe to toe with him, her eyes shooting sparks. “You cannot treat your employees this way and expect them to stay. What did you do, manhandle Rosa until she left?”

      The thought of anyone manhandling the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Mexican grandmother of twelve surprised a smile out of him. “No. Rosa left because her daughter went into early labor with baby number four.”

      When Carlene just scowled at him, he sighed and shoveled his fingers through his hair. “Damn it. I didn’t mean to manhandle you either, honey.”

      “Don’t call me honey. Employees take just as dim a view of being referred to in a too familiar fashion as they do to being manhandled.”