Tangled With A Texan. Yvonne Lindsay

with a small smile.

      She was still smiling when she went up the front stairs of the impressive ranch house and knocked on the front door. But her smile slipped when no one came to answer. She knocked again and waited a couple of minutes before walking along the front porch to one of the side windows. She looked in. No movement, nothing. Zoe blew out a huff of frustration. Maybe a phone call would have been a better idea after all. Still, she had a list of his known associates here in Royal and she knew one of them was his neighbor. She walked back to the car and reprogrammed her app to the next address on her list.

      This time she struck gold when she knocked at the door of the neighboring ranch, which was no less impressive in size and structure than the Stevens property. She’d always known ranching was a prosperous undertaking when done right, but the two properties she’d been on so far were something else. She plastered a smile on her face and flicked her short dark hair back off her forehead as the steady sound of footsteps coming to the door echoed from the other side.

      The words she was about to say dried on the tip of her tongue as the door opened, revealing a tall, imposing presence. While the guy wasn’t heavily muscled, there was no doubting the latent strength in the shoulders that bunched beneath the checkered shirt he wore over a crisp white T-shirt. Zoe’s gaze flicked up—something she wasn’t always used to doing when wearing boots that, combined with her natural height, put her at around six feet. Instantly, her attention was captured by the man’s eyes. Light brown and shot with gold, they were incredibly mesmerizing and were set in a face that was all sharp lines and angles softened by a generous dusting of five o’clock shadow that wrapped his jaw. There was an almost wolflike look to him—as if he were assessing her as prey.

      Rather than getting put on the defensive, Zoe found herself reacting on a far more visceral level—each facet of her mind sharpening, while every cell in her body responded with pure feminine interest. A wave of physical need pulled from deep within her, robbing her of breath and making her nipples harden against the lacy cups of her bra. She drew her full lower lip between her teeth to stop herself from making the involuntary sound—something like a moan—that threatened to spill from her.

      The man’s hair was wet, as if he’d recently stepped from a shower and just slicked it back—its wet ends kissed the edge of his collar and left a damp trail. She drew in a sharp breath, only to discover how intoxicating the scent of him was. She was shocked at how deeply and suddenly he had affected her. She had trained herself from day one at the police academy not to show her emotions. Good things, bad things—it made no difference. She had learned to remain impassive, detached. But right now, she was anything but detached. In fact, right now, every instinct was screaming at her oversensitized body to plaster itself against his length and take his mouth in a possessive kiss that would leave him in no doubt of how much she wanted him. For a nanosecond she allowed herself the luxury of imagining where that might lead. To their two bodies, glistening with perspiration, tangled in tumbled sheets, gliding together, perhaps? She blinked hard and forced herself under control. This was utter madness. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d reacted to a guy this intensely.

      Those intriguing eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and she realized that neither of them had spoken.

      “Miss? Can I help you?”

      His voice poured over her. Deep and strong and sexy as hell. This guy could recite a list of traffic infringements and make her knees turn to water.

      “Detective,” she corrected him, showing him her badge. “Zoe Warren, Houston P.D.”

      “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

      She wasn’t mistaken. The warmth and pure male interest she’d seen reflected in his eyes had dimmed, his gaze sharpening warily.

      “The boundaries of our investigation have stretched a little,” she said carefully. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mister…?”

      “Cord Galicia,” he answered abruptly and thrust out his hand.

      Zoe debated taking it. If her reaction to him on a purely visual basis had been so extreme, how on earth would she react when she actually touched him? There was only one way to find out. She drew in a sharp breath, took the proffered hand and clasped it. A slow sizzle of awareness tracked along her skin. His hand was larger than hers, the palm firm, and she could feel the calluses that spoke of the hard work he did. The title of rancher wasn’t simply some token. This man clearly worked, and worked hard. Did he apply himself to everything else he did with as much vigor? she wondered before giving his hand a quick shake and releasing it.

      “May I come in?” she asked.

      To her surprise, her voice remained steady. Quite a feat when her insides were jangling about as hard as they had in junior high when she’d been asked to prom by the captain of the soccer team. She was already head and shoulders taller than him but it hadn’t bothered her—until she found out the whole thing had been a joke designed by the rest of the team. But that initial response, the delicious sense of anticipation and excitement, she’d never forget. She just never expected to feel it here on the outskirts of Royal, Texas, while working a homicide investigation.

      For a moment it looked as if he’d refuse, but then he stepped back from the doorway and gestured for her to move inside. He closed the door decisively behind her, but Zoe didn’t let it rattle her. She’d dealt with people with far fewer social graces than Cord Galicia.

      “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked as he led the way into a large open-plan living room.

      “Water would be great, thanks.”

      “Take a seat,” he said gruffly before heading through a doorway toward what was, presumably, the kitchen.

      Zoe sank into a large leather sofa. In a smaller room the piece of furniture would have dominated, but not here. She looked around, taking in the high raftered ceiling—must be a bitch to keep clean, she pondered—and the tall windows that led to a paved courtyard outside. Large round ceramic pots in a jumble of bright colors, some with mosaics, were filled with flowers, and beyond that Zoe caught a glimpse of the sparkle of late-afternoon sunlight on water. A pool or an ornamental pond? she wondered.

      “Here you are.”

      Cord Galicia stood before her holding a sweating tall glass of water in one hand. She reached up to take it.

      “Thank you.”

      The man moved with the stealth of a wild animal, she realized. There weren’t many who could sneak up on her like that.

      “You said you had questions,” he said as he settled onto the other end of the sofa.

      “Yes, I do. Your neighbor, Jesse Stevens—are you well acquainted?”

      She knew the men were best friends, but she was curious to see how Galicia reacted to being questioned. She kept her eyes focused on her host and didn’t miss the way his body stiffened.

      “What do you want with Jesse?”

      “Please, Mr. Galicia, just answer the question.”

      “He’s my neighbor, of course we’re acquainted,” Cord said begrudgingly. “But I don’t see what he has to do with some investigation in Houston.”

      “That’s my job,” Zoe said with a grim smile. “Tell me, what’s Mr. Stevens like as a man?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Is he quick to anger? The type to follow up on a grudge?”

      “I don’t like where you’re heading with this. Jesse is a decent man and an upstanding member of our community. If you’re looking at him, you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

      Zoe decided to take a different tack. “Do you remember Vincent Hamm?”

      “Yeah, he grew up around here. We all did.”

      “Were he and Mr. Stevens particularly close?”

      Cord