Montana Royalty. B.J. Daniels

upright.

      “You should be afraid,” she said, her own fingers trembling from the cold as she unbuttoned the dozens of tiny buttons on his fancy shirt.

      As the storm raged over their heads, she pulled him forward to slip the fabric off one broad shoulder, then the other. His muscles rippled across his chest and stomach, a trail of dark curly hair dipping in a V to the waist of his riding britches.

      She half turned away as she removed his britches. He slid down the wall to the floor, eyes fluttering open for a moment. Britches off, he drew the horse blanket to him, curled up and closed those blue eyes again.

      Two seconds later he was snoring softly.

      “Just like a man,” she muttered as she stripped down to her underwear. She was chilled to the core and he had the horse blanket.

      She stared down at the man for a moment. He had passed out, obviously having consumed more than his share of alcohol. Outside, the storm wasn’t letting up. There was little chance it would before morning. She was stuck there, and while she didn’t mind sharing what little she had—the shack and her only dry horse blanket—she was piqued by the groom.

      As drunk as he was, he’d had no business riding a horse, and she intended to tell him so first thing in the morning.

      In the meantime…She knelt down next to him, gave him a nudge. He didn’t budge. Nor did he quit snoring. Sliding under the edge of the blanket with her back to him, she shoved him over.

      “Blanket hog,” she muttered.

      He let out a soft, unintelligible murmur, his warm breath teasing the tender skin at the back of her neck as he snuggled against her. She started to pull away, but his body felt fairly warm and definitely very solid, even the soft sound of his snoring reassuring. At least the man was good for something.

      As much as she had grumbled and complained, the truth was she didn’t mind having company tonight. As she began to warm up, she almost forgot about the storm raging around them as she closed her eyes and snuggled against him, drifting off to sleep.

      RORY WOKE to the sound of her horse’s whinny. Aware of being wonderfully warm, as if wrapped in a cocoon, the last thing she wanted to do was open her eyes.

      Her horse whinnied again close by. Confused, since her horse should have been out by the barn some distance from her ranch house, she opened her eyes a slit.

      Three things hit her at once.

      She wasn’t in her bed at the ranch.

      There was an arm around her, a body snuggled behind her.

      And she was naked.

      Rory froze, listening to the man’s soft, steady breathing as the events of the previous night came back in a rush. The storm, the shack, the groom she’d taken in out of the goodness of her heart.

      But she was absolutely certain she had been wearing her undergarments, as skimpy as they were, when she’d lain down next to him last night. She recalled snuggling against him under the blanket to get warm…

      She let out a silent curse as she recalled drowsily coming, half-awake, during the night to what she’d first thought was an erotic dream.

      He stirred behind her, his warm breath tickling her bare shoulder, his arm tightening around her, one large hand cupping her left breast.

      With a silent groan, it all came back, every pleasurable dreamlike moment of it, up until she’d awakened to the shock of her life.

      She wasn’t in the habit of waking with a stranger in her bed, let alone with a stranger on the floor of a shack under a horse blanket after having wild wanton sex.

      This was all Bryce’s fault. After breaking off her engagement with him four years ago, she’d been gun-shy of men. But then, who could blame her?

      Blaming Bryce for this made her feel a little better. And of course there were other factors to blame: the storm, her fear of storms, the intimacy of the dark shack, the closeness of their near-naked bodies, the need for warmth to survive, Bryce again and that other need she’d ignored for obviously too long.

      Not to mention trying to run the ranch single-handedly. She hadn’t had time to date even though she’d had a few offers. Shoot, she’d bet everyone in the county was laying odds that she would end up a spinster. After all, she was nearly thirty.

      Not that any of that was an excuse. She had her principles. And sleeping with a royal groom, whose name she didn’t even know, didn’t meet any of them.

      As his breathing slowed again, signaling he’d fallen back into a deep sedated sleep, Rory slowly lifted his arm and slipped out from under it and the horse blanket. He stirred. She froze.

      Then he rolled over, pulling the blanket with him, but not before she’d seen his naked backside.

      She closed her eyes as she was assaulted with images of the two of them in the throes of lovemaking. A groan escaped her lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes flying open, fearing she’d awakened him.

      With relief, she saw that he was still sleeping soundly.

      Her clothing was on a nail, where she’d hung it the night before. Her underwear was at the end of the horse blanket next to the groom’s bare feet.

      She gingerly extracted the lingerie and pulled it on. From the nail, she retrieved her shirt, which was almost dry, as were her socks. Her jeans and jean jacket were still cold and wet.

      But she hardly noticed as she dressed and tried her best to ignore the hot flush of her skin or the slight whisker burn on certain parts of her body.

       Don’t think about it.

      She wished it were that simple. She was appalled that she’d made love to a perfect stranger—and that she’d enjoyed it more than she should have.

      Completely dressed, she stood for a moment telling herself maybe it had just been a dream. Right. She wasn’t letting herself off that easily. Last night had been reckless, scandalous and…and…amazing. At least according to her limited experience.

      As she turned to stare at the man curled in her horse blanket, she felt almost guilty about just leaving him there to meet his fate. When she’d found him lying in the pine needles drunk and confused, she’d thought he deserved whatever punishment his royal boss would give him for riding, in an inebriated state, such a beautiful horse.

      But this morning she worried that he really might be sent home to face a firing squad. She hoped that wasn’t the case, but there was nothing she could do about it. In fact, since she’d refused to sell her property to his employer, it was good that no one would ever know where the groom had spent the night—or with whom.

      She was grateful that he didn’t know who she was. With luck, she would never see him again since the man obviously was a bad influence on her.

      It dawned on her that the only two men she’d ever slept with she now had to avoid.

      Not a great track record, she told herself as she picked up her saddle, eased open the door and slipped out.

      DEVLIN BARROW WOKE with the worst hangover of his life. He opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in a horse blanket.

      Sitting up with a start, he looked around in confusion—and alarm. He spotted his clothing draped over nails on the log walls of what appeared to be a very small cabin. But he didn’t recall hanging his clothing there anymore than he could remember this place or the previous night.

      The sun was up and a slight breeze blew through several cracks between the logs, chilling what he realized was his very bare skin.

      “What the devil?” He rubbed his stubbled jaw and desperately tried to remember how he’d gotten there.

      He had not the faintest idea. Not as to how he’d come to be there nor where he even was. Nor could he explain his massive headache