Riley's Retribution. Rebecca York

flattened against his shirtfront, he felt his heart thunk. Then she turned her face and stroked her lips against his cheek.

      Easing away, he looked into her sleepy camel-colored eyes. “We need to warm you up,” he muttered.

      “Oh, yeah,” she answered in a voice that had gone from panicked to sultry.

      He’d climbed out of his SUV to rescue a stranded driver, and he’d expected to be greeted with relief when he opened the truck door. Instead she’d fought like a wounded tiger. Now she was coming on to him—and she probably didn’t even realize what she was doing.

      Keeping his voice even, he said, “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I saw you on the road and figured you needed help.”

      He watched her pull herself together and focus on him. Maybe she was really seeing him for the first time. In any event, her expression went from sexy to sharp in the blink of an eye.

      “If you’re here to help me, why did you take a pot-shot at me?”

      “I didn’t shoot at you,” he said, hoping he was putting the right amount of sincerity into his voice.

      “Oh, yeah? If you’re on the level, then go away and leave me alone.”

      He struggled to rein in his exasperation. “It’s too cold for that. Just for a minute, try to think logically. If I’d wanted to kill you, I could already have done it.”

      Either the reasoning had sunk in, or she was too exhausted to keep up the struggle because he saw her shoulders sag.

      He picked up her gun from the ground and shoved it into his belt. Then he reached for the lady.

      “What the hell are you doing?”

      “Getting you out of the cold.”

      She was back in fighting mode, kicking against him, and he ignored the thuds from her Western boots as he carried her back to the SUV, set her in the passenger seat and slammed the door before hurrying around to the driver’s side. To his chagrin, he almost lost his balance.

      As he climbed behind the wheel, she was already reaching for the door handle,

      He yanked her hand away. “Don’t do anything foolish. Let me get you out of this storm.”

      She gave a sigh and leaned back against the seat as though admitting defeat.

      But he wasn’t going to trust that. Not hardly. She was too far out of it—and too determined to fight him.

      He tucked the blanket more firmly around her and fastened her seat belt, wishing he’d feel her shiver. That would be a good sign.

      After starting the car, he turned up the heat and drove slowly down the road, squinting into a swirl of white and wondering how far he’d have to go before he found both of them shelter.

      After twenty minutes, he spotted a red-and-blue neon sign just visible through the driving snow.

      Leaning forward, he struggled to make out the words. Finally he saw Buckskin Motel. Vacancy.

      “Thank God,” he murmured, then looked toward his passenger. She was sitting with her eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly.

      Was it safe to leave her?

      He thought about the scene in the lobby if he showed up carrying her over his shoulder like a caveman dragging his mate off to make love. No. Better leave her in the car—unless she was going to make a run for it.

      Wondering how fast he could get in and out, he pulled up beside the office door and cut the engine. Next to the office was a small restaurant. All the comforts of home.

      “Do us both a favor and stay put, sugar,” he ordered, then quickly exited the SUV and dashed into the lobby.

      “I need a room to wait out the storm, and maybe something to eat later,” he told the old man who came through a door in response to the tinkling bell over the door.

      “You’re in luck. We’ve got a few rooms left. And Molly just made a big pot of her beef and vegetable soup.”

      “I may try some,” Riley allowed. He kept one eye on his SUV while he filled out the form and paid with a credit card. His passenger didn’t move. And he felt reluctant to talk about her to the man behind the counter.

      She’d said someone had shot at her, and she had a serious hole in her windshield. What if it wasn’t a stone that had done the damage? And what if the shooter was looking for her—and somebody talking about her led the bad guys to this motel?

      He put long odds on that scenario. But in his years with the Special Forces and then with Big Sky, he’d learned caution. So he decided to keep her under wraps, so to speak, until he could have a coherent conversation with her.

      Completing the transaction as quickly as possible, he hurried back to the SUV, then drove down the row of motel rooms and around the back where the old guy had directed him.

      When he came around to the passenger door, the woman stirred. “What?”

      “You can’t stay in the car. I’m no medic, but I know what you need. I’ve got to get you inside where it’s warm and cozy.”

      She roused herself enough to slit her eyes and ask, “Are we at the ranch?”

      “No, a motel.”

      Her eyes blinked fully open, and she focused on him again—obviously seeing a man she didn’t know and didn’t trust. “I’m not going into any motel room with you.”

      “If I had wanted to try anything funny, I could have done that in the car.”

      Before she could object, he stepped away from the vehicle and unlocked the motel room door. Returning to the SUV, he scooped her up and carried her inside, where he laid her on the bed.

      After bringing in a few things, he closed and locked the door, then fired up the heating unit under the window and put her gun in a drawer so she couldn’t grab it and shoot him. When he turned back to the woman on the bed, he saw that she was dozing again.

      The thought crossed his mind that a warm bath might be just what she needed. It made sense in medical terms, but he canceled that plan as soon as it surfaced. No way was he going to do anything that intimate.

      But he did pull off her boots, gloves, hat and jacket, tossing them in the general direction of the chair in the corner. Leaving the rest of her clothing on, he bundled her under the covers.

      “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

      “No.”

      Because she couldn’t remember? Or because she didn’t want to?

      He hadn’t seen a purse in the truck. Maybe he’d missed it. She might have a wallet on her, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to pat her down.

      She spoke again, her voice faint and urgent. “Honey?”

      Apparently, she wanted them back on intimate terms again.

      “I’m not your man,” he answered, looking at the mass of rich chestnut hair that had been hidden under her hat. The cloud of hair around her face totally changed her appearance, making her look feminine and seductive. But he didn’t have much time to study her, because she was speaking again, and her tone had turned high and urgent. “I need you to hold me. Please.”

      She was calling out to another guy. But she sounded on the edge of panic. When she pushed the covers aside and swung her legs out of bed, he figured he’d better act before she exited the room into the cold and snow again.

      “Come on, sugar, let’s get back into bed and get you nice and warm.” He kicked his own boots off and shrugged out of his coat.

      Leaving his jeans and shirt on, he climbed into bed and gathered her to him, then pulled the blankets up around them and held her close, stroking her hair and shoulders, murmuring low, reassuring words.

      Apparently